Celebrity Voters in Lexington!

It isn’t just your Regular Joes out there hitting the polls in Fayette County today!  A keen eye and a DVR later, we have photographic evidence of a real-live superstar in our midst.


That’s right, world-renowned master chef Matthew Combs has been spotted casting a ballot (we can only assume for the good side) via WLEX 18’s news cameras!  Way to go, Matt!  Get down with some democracy!


2 Responses to “Celebrity Voters in Lexington!”

  1. Nah Says:

    Well I had had just about enough of that!

    I mean sure, when you live in a building in the misty shadow of the Bert T. Combs Mountain Parkway overpass in a post-apocalyptic looking stretch of Old Clay City Town, a crippled pigeon’s hobble away from the Bottoms, you have to expect some ne’re-do-wells to come creeping around from time to time to cause a little mischief. It’s part of the charm! But my 1984 Cadillac Eldorado, an American classic that one would think even the most desperate, rock-hungry crackhead would respect enough to limp by at a wide berth with little more than a reverential whistle, had been broken into for the fourth time, and its interior had been stripped of pretty much everything except a few swaths of fine faux wood paneling.

    I had to take action. Immediately.

    I considered staging an all night stakeout with my blowgun in the bushes across the street from the gravel lot where I park and dart the next infidel who dared enter my golden chariot, but there was a double episode of “Deal Or No Deal” on so that wasn’t an option.

    Instead, I decided to lay a trap, literally. And believe you me, this trap I had in mind would teach my burglar such an awful lesson, I knew he’d be down to the public library to make a HotJobs account first thing the next morning. I was going to send that bitch on the straight and narrow.

    I went to the store and bought a can of olestra Pringles, the fat free ones that warn that they’ll cause whoever is foolish enough to enjoy them “loose stools.” And as I watched some idiot who had just explained to Howie Mandel how she needed to win at least $300,000 to pay for a crucial medical procedure for her mom and to one day send her wild children to college decide to go for the million dollar top prize after she already had over $400,000 in the bank, I started eating those Pringles. Eating them with abandon, more or less drinking them right out of the tube.

    When I got about halfway through the can of delicious potato flake crisps, and the greedy idiot woman had lost all of her money to that evil banker, I felt a rumble deep in my bowels.

    My plan was working.

    I carefully removed the remaining half of the Pringles from the can to keep their uniformity from being compromised and hunched towards the bathroom with the empty tube.

    And then, just like the label warned, my bowels began to go slack. But rather than deposit their troubled contents into the toilet bowl, I shot them into the bottom of the Pringles can, filling about a quarter of the tube with a fine brown froth before setting it aside. Once my bowels had finished uncoiling in the toilet and I knew I was in no danger of leaving the safety of the bathroom, I cleaned off my war torn ass, picked up my defiled Pringles can, and headed back to the living room, where the rest of the chips lay in wait.

    I then carefully placed the uneaten chips back in the can, making it look like a mostly full tube of delicious Pringles. I replaced the cap, waited for a commercial break, and took my creation out to the Cadillac, placing it right on the dashboard with the doors unlocked.

    About an hour later, after some other nitwit had greedily bet away a life-changing sum of money on “Deal Or No Deal,” I heard a blood-curdling scream from outside my window, followed by several minutes straight of stomach evacuating retching.

    My enemy had taken the bait, pressing his luck with the contents of my beautiful car one too many times, going for the crackhead equivalent of the top prize and losing it all, and I haven’t had the Cadillac broken into since.

    Yes, once you pop, you can’t stop, that is until you realize that that last Pringle you just ate was sitting on a polluted sea of shitty wrath. And that won’t just make you stop eating Pringles, but stop everything and completely reevaluate your fucked up life…

  2. fffffffej Says:

    goddamn it, cory, it’s time to post a new fucking entry

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