The correspondence between the doo doo Gooders™ and the Skirt Chasers began to take a turn for the worse during another arduous town hall meeting.  This would be another nerve-wracking pissing contest that couldn't be avoided.  The tension was at an all-time high and the Mercenaries of Padelle were up to no good as usual with all their smoke and mirrors in tandem.  Restitution was paid back to Trent over the four wheeler Proto Slam Demolition, and was done so discreetly.  This unfortunate incident caused his squad to come in dead last during the finals and then the inevitable happened when an all-out turf war broke out at 3:55 AM on Thursday morning across the street from the Shell gas station.  Most of the machinery was caked in mud, twigs, and grass by 7:32 AM and left for future rampage and salvage.  Harris, the new leader of the Skirt Chasers, would be giving the keynote address - confronting many of the collective concerns and goals that were brought to the table from the last conference, from four appointed delegates - two from each side.
  "Some of you," said Harris, "have been looking and smelling like you've been living under saggy cardboard boxes this week."  With the mic to his side, he paced behind the podium in complete silence, his eyes glaring at certain members in the crowd.  Then he continued:  "You know who you are..."  The mic began to sputter with crackly pops and atonal feedback.  "Matter of fact," he continued, "I can smell that very stench from the back row this very moment, wafting - all the way to my nostrils as I stand here speaking to each and every one of your filthy mongrels.  The Skirt Chasers have been in business for almost three years now, and everyone knows this is not the image we want to perpetuate.  It's disrespectful to our local business partners as it is to any new members considering active roles in either of our organizations.  When some of you close a huge deal, do you take the team out for steak dinner?  Hell fuckin' no... you-you-you run around like little schoolgirls in pigtails who won the blue ribbon for the prettiest pumpkin at the county fair, passing around cotton candy and rainbow colored popcorn balls.  This needs to stop IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!
  10 seconds later:
  "We're not a bunch of derelicts," said Harris, quieter.  "You... in the back.... you think this is funny?  Some kind of laughing contest?"
  "No."
  "You were laughing a second ago."
  "I eh..."
  "Didn't think so.  Yes.  Fenton.  Your question?"
  "Not so much a question as a formal complaint."
  "Go ahead."
  "The recruiting system is horrifically flawed."
  "What recruiting system isn't.  Hang on now.... alright everyone... let me speak... done?  To answer your question, the answer is 'yes' - the website has been down for two months, but we have Nic - wave Nic - hey - who is in the final stages of launching a brand new one.  Those of you with active smartphones need to keep them turned on at all times to stay informed of the new URL when it goes live.  Next.  Yes.  Crystal."
  "The checkpoint timing grids aren't calibrated correctly, and the use of an archaic walkie-talkie system has become nothing more than an exercise in futility."
  "Speak with Cory about that.  I'm sorry I don't have an answer for you.  Last question.  You."
  "Thanks Harris.  Um... I forgot.  Oh wait.... I remember.  Who is your official speechwriter?"
  "That's none of your business and you're out to lunch.  Nurse?  Let's get this guy checked out.  This meeting is adjourned."

... and now a word from our sponsor:  God and Satan

OPPORTUNITY

  "There's one!!" cried Satan.
  "One what?" said God skimming the Daily Halo.
  "Big Guy... she's totally checking You out... and what a rack... I'm Your wing man.  I'll introduce You to her.  Come on.  She probably has a sister too," said Satan doing another rail.
  "You think?  I should probably shave first," said God, eyebrows raised.  "At least trim the old beard."
  "Look at me," said Satan.  "She knows we're talking about her... ooh... she's starting to dance.  Stop thinking about prophets and angels and love and wrath for a second.  This might be Your golden opportunity."
  "Luce, all you think about is getting laid," said God going back to His newspaper.  "You think she's so hot, you go talk to her."
  "I just might.  Matter of fact, I'll fawn over her blog that nobody reads, or maybe her business start-up that isn't going anywhere."
  "How do you know she's a wannabe entrepreneur?"
  "Big Guy - every twentysomething is their own CEO - successful or otherwise.  A lot of it is right place right time stuff.  Everyone has billion dollar ideas with no working capital."
  "You should write for the Wall Street Journal."
  "Oh I do Big Guy.  I do."

... and now back to Stale Catfood

  Later that week, Harris and Pippa took a vacation to the Mountains of Gandaliere, twitching and fussing, smoking up a storm of wrath, apathy, and insignificant boredom.  This became a place for Harris to take a sabbatical of sorts - away from dermatology and into the world of dentistry and oral hygiene.  Come on folks, some of these peasants can't afford a good cleaning of the enamels or yanking of the yellow molar - much less join the eternally bored and Heaven Bound of Shaquina Glory of the Mad Dog Rampage - where's my relief after a procedure like this that is Constitutional comin' for to Paris me home with a letter from the Vatican and Resolution for Absinthe related quandary?  O Honeysuckle.  Gimme' a lick.  Just a real quick one.  Like a ten second jingle you love to put on repeat, or an over world theme that never gets annoying but should.  This is sort of like playing Frogger on Atari, but not quite.  Only one life?  Yikes!!  Posterity, posterity, location of the well informed say:  I say it's time to get up out of these chairs!!  To Arms!  To Arms!!

OFFICE RECORDING OF DR. TODD LURPIS, DDS, PLLC

  "Ye quadrant of unsatisfactory squabble and loose toothy.  Owie.  Open?  You like Shakespeare kid?  Funny ha ha.  Right.  High high.  No worries.  Ouch... that's gotta hurt.  Chipped bicuspid.  Ouch.  Calamity.  Don't worry - I'm a dentist.  Right there.  Hold this.  There that wasn't so bad.  Spit.  That's a short term remedy now.  Alkeyhol will eat you up and diarrhea shit you right out kid.  I ain't fuckin' around either.  Don't you be a dumb ass and get hooked or it's a life of AA meetings for you and you don't want that.  You may NEED that one day if you have the allergy in ya'.  If you think I'm kidding and choose that path, you're up a crick.  Only use this here jug right cheer for severe pain.  When the pain stops, so does the drink.  You got me?  Didn't hear ya.  You got me now?  Alright.  I trust your judgement.  But don't you treat this like it's recreation now cause it AIN'T!  You hear me?  Open.  And I mean using this stuff to loosen you up so you can run around with easy girls - wine, women, and song - don't you do it now... ya hear?  Open.  Now let's have a looksy.  Get you some cotton - you bleeding a little now.  Keep these in for seventy two hours.  Watch the swelling.  Man these teeth are a work of art though.  I grew up around dentists - don't you worry about a thing.  I'm more worried 'bout you looking for more strong drink and bars and opiates after we're done mindu.  Open.  Which tastes better... the peach or grape fluoride?  Take your pick.  Thanks Laura.  The world may never know.  Ainchu funny.  Yeah.  Xray time!!  It's heavy, but it ain't cold.  So you see the big game?  Yeah.  Oh sure, but their defense needs help.  If they can keep that same offense and just tweak their defense next season... they'll get their... open...they'll get their shot.... open... just you wait.  I'm serious about that drinkin' and druggin' now.  Turned my grandpa into a walrus.  He died a red nosed walrus.  Don't you end up like that.  Not a Beatles song.  Funny.  Dat's no yoke.  Open.  You ever think about donating your set to science?  After you leave this place?  Jesse James would have killed for a mold like these.  Geesh.  Send them chompers right over to the ADA labs... thanks Claire... love that dress by the way... she's somethin' ain't she?  Like I was sayin... if you donate to science you'll be doin' everyone's nibblers a huge public service yes sir.  Mmmm .  Done.  Yeah.  High five.  Way to go.  Alright.  A++.  Yip.  Nest?!?"  Slap

END RECORDING

... Stale Catfood will return after a brief Word

MONEY

  "Hey Big Guy," said Satan, "Jesus grows on trees, and cigarette butts grow on sidewalks."
  "Is that poetry Luce?" said God.
  "Hardly.  Just stating the facts for all your earthlings."
  "That reminds me," said God, "you got that five bucks I lent you last week?"
  "Unfortunately not Big Guy," said Satan.  "The IRS put a lien on my checking account.  Here's an IOU."
  "Thanks," said God.  "Hey... you ever regret becoming a musician?"
  "Who me?  Never.  Only every fucking second of my existence.  Every sentient being says they loved hearing me play and sing, but all I was getting paid in was compliments.  No worries thought, I'm going to night school for a degree in business management.  I'm going to start my own day care called 'Red Bottom Poopery."
  "Sounds like a fun business venture.  Practical anyway.  I'm pretty good at business Myself," said God.  "Let's brainstorm together.  What is your definition of productivity?"
  "I had a coughing fit this morning," said Satan.  "That was productive."
  "Eesh!" said God.  "Back to the show!"

... we now return to Stale Catfood