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Best Celebrity Abduction
KVOA Billboard
STAFF PICK: Imagine our surprise, nay, shock...or better
still, our complete soul-rending amazement. After all, we'd just
spent the better part of a month (and no mean share of ink) discounting
any and all who'd dare try foisting some phantasmagoric tomfoolery
on the populace of our fair city. From lights in the sky over
Phoenix, to that gathering of wackos in Roswell, our sole obligation
(or so we naively thought at the time) was, simply, to gather
the facts and set the record straight. But then the unthinkable
happened. Suddenly, and in the stealth of night, our own Joe
Donlon, that same Joe Donlon whose pearly whites had beamed
down beneficently upon us for so many a month from billboards
all across town, reassuring us during our sleepy morning drives
that, yes, at the end of the day, and despite whatever befell
us, everything would, at 5, 6 and 10 p.m., be all right...vanished.
Without a trace. Without explanation. In his stead, we realized
with horror, sweat gathering at the backs of our knees, was what
even those who'd labored so hard to put the capital "S"
back in "skepticism" could only conclude: an alien being.
What else could account for this malicious sleight of hand, this
Orwellian twist, this nefarious legerdemain? They tell us the
new smile belongs to some set of hair they call "Tom McNamara."
But, faithful readers, the jig is up: The mothership has landed.
STAFF PICK: Imagine our surprise, nay, shock...or better
still, our complete soul-rending amazement. After all, we'd just
spent the better part of a month (and no mean share of ink) discounting
any and all who'd dare try foisting some phantasmagoric tomfoolery
on the populace of our fair city. From lights in the sky over
Phoenix, to that gathering of wackos in Roswell, our sole obligation
(or so we naively thought at the time) was, simply, to gather
the facts and set the record straight. But then the unthinkable
happened. Suddenly, and in the stealth of night, our own Joe
Donlon, that same Joe Donlon whose pearly whites had beamed
down beneficently upon us for so many a month from billboards
all across town, reassuring us during our sleepy morning drives
that, yes, at the end of the day, and despite whatever befell
us, everything would, at 5, 6 and 10 p.m., be all right...vanished.
Without a trace. Without explanation. In his stead, we realized
with horror, sweat gathering at the backs of our knees, was what
even those who'd labored so hard to put the capital "S"
back in "skepticism" could only conclude: an alien being.
What else could account for this malicious sleight of hand, this
Orwellian twist, this nefarious legerdemain? They tell us the
new smile belongs to some set of hair they call "Tom McNamara."
But, faithful readers, the jig is up: The mothership has landed.