What have we done to deserve two weeks in a row of extended "journalistic" excursions by CIENNA MADRID in The Stranger? Last week, she mistakenly assumed that the reading public had developed a sincere and intense interest in her genital goings-on. This week, she chastises King County prosecutor Dan Satterberg for refusing to prosecute an officer of the peace who dared to defend the written rule of the law. Of the two weeks, I would have to declare last week's outing to be the nominal winner, if only because one assumes that Miss Madrid has some basic understanding of her own sexual organs; when it comes to the law, she is a babbling infant. Truly, we are all losers when Señorita Madrid picks up a pen—this irresponsible screed against a man who stands bravely against the howling masses borders on libel, then ends with an outrageous cry for a slate of new laws that would keep Seattle's Finest from performing their duties.

The music section of The Stranger is notable, too, this week for its staggering lack of competence. DAVE SEGAL scribbles a series of depressing paeans to a musical group with the striking name Swans—with such graceful, delicate nomenclature, I can only imagine they are the finest barbershop quartet on the planet—culminating with his thoughts on concentration camps, rape, and slavery. I believe Evergreen "students" would refer to this as "harshing" their "mellow," Mr. Segal. For shame.

And to compensate for apparently not being able to put his own section together in time for publication—no books were released this week?—books editor PAUL CONSTANT writes a piece for the music section about attending a concert for children and spends much of the time harboring salacious fantasies about the underage female attendees. I am fairly certain this confession would be admissible in court, and I would encourage Mr. Satterberg to take his wrath against The Stranger out on Mr. Constant's pedophilia.

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In yet further perversity, BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT declares a hamburger sandwich to be "depraved" and like "addiction" in an all-too-blatant effort to trick The Stranger's debased readership into reading her restaurant review. Nice try, but I believe I speak for all of Seattle when I say it would take outright bribery to get us to read your stultifying prose.

THEATER: Brendan Kiley makes a facile play on the name of The Threepenny Opera and calls it a review—though what else can a so-called reviewer do when he fails to stay through the whole show?... VISUAL ART: Miss Graves makes the monumental discovery that you can meet artists in person; her subsequent elation calls into question whether she has ever attended an art opening before... SAVAGE LOVE: The usual mix of laughter at sexual dysfunction and "I'm just sayin'" folksy wisdom that keeps them coming back, apparently, for decades.

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