Any other week, BRENDAN KILEY's little essay in the books section about Brendan Kiley writing a little essay in the books section would probably have been the focal point of my outrage. It is just the sort of narcissistic codswallop that this scandal sheet is famous for. Nobody is interested in the daily goings-on in the whores' den that is The Stranger—it is the least interesting ongoing event on the face of this planet. Why would anyone care that Mr. Kiley is incapable of finding a place to read a book that is not flecked with feces? Or that he makes adorable widdle tough faces at himself in the mirror?

But something happens in this week's issue that makes Mr. Kiley's masturbatory self-adulation look like the work of William F. Buckley. This is not in jest: In this issue of The Stranger, DAVID SCHMADER informs you how to maim, blind, or murder a dog with your bare hands. Oh, I am sure this little bit of violent pornography was proposed at an editorial meeting with a titter, perhaps between the sentences "This ought to get a reaction out of them" and "Pass the syringe this way, my man." It is offense-bait, pure and simple, and I admit that I await the hippie PETA love-in protest of The Stranger's offices with a certain amount of relish. (And a bun, and a hot dog.) But. But. There is a fine line between "joking around" and "advocating the cold-blooded murder of man's best friend," and Mr. Schmader has throttled that line to death. Somewhere in Seattle this week, a burned-out coke fiend will undoubtedly slaughter a pooch; I can assure you that Fido's blood will be on the hands of every moral monster who works at this homosexual-friendly smut rag.

Elsewhere in this issue, you will find the "brain trust" (I am being sarcastic) of Mr. Kiley, CIENNA MADRID, and ELI SANDERS trying to strum the heartstrings of their readership with stories of health-care woe. This is undoubtedly an attempt to make "Rock-'em Sock-'em" Rob McKenna look like an evil brute who is trying to steal health care away from the helpless. Piffle, I say! These are nothing more than hyperbolic scare tactics, executed to further a heavy-handed communist agenda. McKenna is a patriot's patriot, and perhaps the last real man left in the once-Great State of Washington. That Senorita Madrid cannot stop her maudlin tears from flowing about the Liberal Cause du Jour is not my problem, or your problem. It is her own problem. And regardless of what The Stranger wants you to think, your problems—even your health problems, which, if you share any characteristics with the writers of this abomination, are both legion and lesion in nature—are not, in fact, my problems. You have to solve them yourselves or else you will always be helpless, sniveling children. Get some Band-Aids, stiffen your upper lips, stay chaste, and trust me, you will feel much better by next week.