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Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.

Unless you're as bored as I am.

Brain Farts: And the Winner Is ...
	By Kevin Gibson October 25, 2000

Welcome to the world of print journalism, ladies and gentlemen. We are your watchdogs. We keep an eye on sleazy government officials to make sure that, no matter what, they always do the right thing. If they step out of line, we are there to get the "scoop" (that's an insider term) and deliver the news to you the very next day (or the next week, in LEO's case).

We are also your gatekeepers. We decide what news to deliver. If we catch a politician doing something sleazy, we don't have to tell you about it if he gives us money. Of course, we, as the Fourth Estate, would never do such a thing. As far as you know.

Why are we print journalists, you ask? For most of us it's because we are too ugly to be on television. Some of us don't realize how ugly we are but still never aspire to be TV journalists; our ideal is that we think we can change the world by keeping sleazy government officials in line.

After a few years, we realize we CAN change the world ever so slightly, but we also realize we only get paid about 25 grand a year, and that just sucks.

So we either go into PR or we continue to be print journalists, in which case we get fat, drink too much coffee, smoke too much and end up being eccentric old turds with bad breath and zero social skills.

Another reason we continue to be print journalists is because we give each other awards. It's true. We write and write and write all year long, then we go to a big fancy (well, for print journalists, anything you can't wear Converse sneakers to is considered fancy) dinner, where we get awards based on the opinions of other print journalists, and we drink too much bad wine and wear really bad ties.

Here's how these awards work: Basically, the "judges," these being other print journalists from out of state, read what you wrote, wish they had written it themselves, give you an award, then plagiarize the hell out of your work. Because, how would a print journalist in Wheeling, W.Va., know if some other print journalist in Fargo, N.D., rewrites his story? And as long as he gets his little four-dollar plaque, what does he even care?

But really, if you think about it, why should we even get awards? We don't really do anything. We just write about people who are doing things. Do garbage men get awards? Now they do things. Imagine how we would all smell if not for them. We would still smell fine without print journalists -- except for that guy I sat near at that Indianapolis Colts game a couple years ago. Man, that guy was smelly.

Where was I? Oh yeah, print journalists. Don't bother me with that. I'm in PR now.

E-mail the writer at kgramone@aol.com. But be nice. His dog died, for chrissakes.