The following was found in an unmarked envelope left under the door of The Oakland Post. This document is believed to be a personal account of the last known whereabouts of former Mouthing Off Editor, Rory McCarty.

The Oakland Post would like to reiterate that the opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of The Oakland Post staff.

January 3

Last year, The Oakland Post stumbled across a conspiracy in our midst. While researching an investigative piece, Post editors discovered an oddity. On the eighth floor of the Science and Engineering Building tower, there is a room 855 and a room 857, with nothing between them.

What happened to that missing room? Was it removed? Obscured? Or has it been purposefully hidden?

What started as an oddity began to unravel as we looked into it. I took it upon myself to uncover the mystery behind the missing room, Room 856. I took it upon myself to delve deeper into the mystery and unearth some answers.

January 4

The next day, a brisk walk across campus troubled my soul further as I began noticing some curious idiosyncrasies.

My internal radar for such strangeness was pinging as I took note of one weird thing after another.

There were satellites on rooftops I had never noticed before. The entrance to what I could only assume was an intricate tunnel system beneath the campus. And I never did fully understand what all that construction was for … It was all adding up.

It all seemed a little too coincidental. The mystery of Room 856 may be more widespread than I initially feared.

January 5

To begin my investigation, I spent the afternoon slamming myself into each of the walls of the eighth floor of SEB, figuring that maybe they had a sort of “Platform Nine and Three Quarters” deal going on. But no luck.

I can’t go to the administration for help with this, obviously. In my experience, when there is a conspiracy, the regional governing body is always, always central to the cover-up.

I mean, come on. That’s like Conspiracy 101.

January 6

I decided to go to the library to put in a little research. I was shocked to discover that section 856 of the Dewey Decimal system pertains to “Italian letters.”

Italy. Of course!

I promptly spent hours reading through the stacks, made more difficult by the fact that I don’t know any Italian. But I did manage to get one cryptic message from Google Translate: “The delegates home will knock us down if we are injured by car. Don’t follow the balls when they make the street.”

Could this be yet another layer of the cipher that needs to re-decoded? Or should I take it literally, meaning that politicians are using organized vehicular manslaughter to control the populace?

January 7

I cornered managing editor Mike Sandula in the hall this morning. I thought with his Italian heritage, he might be able to shed some light on the 856 situation.

He was predictably evasive, responding to my questions dismissively with stuff like, “Ahhh,” and “Stop shaking me.”

January 8

I realized that finding out about Room 856 was going to require actually getting to Room 856. That was only going to happen by working backwards from my goal, so I went to the Rec Center and asked for a tour. Studio 897 is the only numbered room in the Rec Center. There must be a connection between it and Room 856.

When we reached Studio 897, I dove behind a Pilates ball and hid until my tour guide walked away, no doubt mystified by my sudden escape. I was on a stakeout for any clues that could lead me to another thread of the conspiracy.

I was awoke hours later by the instructor for the nighttime aerobics class. She said I had been passed out on a pile of workout mats and asked me to leave.

I was making my actions too obvious.

Now, I’ve been on my fair share of stakeouts, and rarely have I passed out. No doubt something I ate earlier was drugged. Whoever’s responsible for this is getting sloppy. Their increasingly desperate attempts at a cover up have unwittingly lead me to the next piece of the puzzle: Chartwells.

January 10

I usually feel sleepy after eating the chicken parmesan stromboli in the food court, but nothing quite like this. There was something in that food keeping the general populace in the dark. Something that makes us complacent. Something that makes us not question the baffling stuff that happens all around us. To hell with subtlety, I thought. I need to get this out in the open.

I stood in Pioneer Food Court, staring at the soup counter, sizing it up. Italian wedding soup, I realized, was the obvious culprit. A clerk came over to ask me if I needed any help.

“No, I can get it,” I replied as I overturned a barrel of the stuff on the ground and began sifting through it a fistful at a time. Even now I’m sure it had to be in there, some kind of opiate chemical. As I slipped on the drug-laden soup while fighting off a couple of chefs no doubt strung out on the stuff, I could swear I saw the synthesized psychotropic in the puddle, clear as day. Or maybe it was parsley. Definitely parsley or a synthesized psychotropic.

January 11

I write this from a holding room at the OUPD. If the librarians, aerobics instructors and fry cooks can’t be trusted, then I have no doubt the university police are instrumental in keeping the whole situation under wraps.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to me next. I expect I will be made to “disappear” the same way that Room 856 disappeared. I’m going to keep on writing this as long as I can in hopes that someone will eventually find my notes and take up the same cause.

This is the end of Rory McCarty’s journal. It is unclear what happened to McCarty after the events documented here. Some people believe he was escorted off campus grounds by OUPD and instructed to not return. Some say his doctors adjusted his medication and he’s doing much better now. Still, others have said that he has been trapped inside the mystery he sought to reveal, another victim of a cover-up, a prisoner of Room 856.

If you have information that may be related to these events, give us a ring.

Illustration by Nicole Seguin

I’ve heard the complaints. Every time we do a “Year in Review” issue, people ask, “Why is the Oakland Post recapping the top news stories from the past year? Isn’t this a newspaper? That’s hardly new. Are you becoming an oldspaper?”

Well, yes, we did consider becoming an oldspaper for a while, but we decided against it. I’m digressing here.

My greatest concern when we do a year in review is that December gets left out. How can we recap the year without having lived through its final days?

Well, I’ve got you covered on both fronts. I intend to report news so new that it has yet to happen, and at the same time put the finishing touch on our remembrance of 2010.

For your information and entertainment, I risked causing irreparable damage to the time-space continuum and fired up the Oakland Post time machine one last time to boldly travel into the future … all the way to New Years Eve 2010!

Brave New World

Toyota will have more trouble with recalls when the latest line of Priuses (Prii?) are found to have faulty seats that accidentally and suddenly recline. Customers have begun a class action suit against Toyota for injuries caused by to “spontaneous relaxation.”

The inspiring story of the Chilean miners who survived for 69 days trapped underground will be overshadowed when 12 Christmas shoppers are trapped in an elevator with Kanye West, Paris Hilton and Glenn Beck. Though they are only trapped for six hours, most of the shoppers end up beating each other to death as a form of mercy killing.

The makers of “LOST,” desperate to make people forget the show’s awful conclusion, will make an alternate ending. In the new conclusion, it turns out that Hurley is an angel sent to watch over humanity … and the entire island is a dream in the mind of a comatose boy … who is himself a figurine in a tiny snowglobe.

Arizona’s new immigration law will become so popular that other border states will adopt it. Michigan State Police will become one of the first to begin demanding immigration papers from drivers, although many citizens will be falsely deported because the trooper claimed, “He looked Canadian to me. Those Francophonic bastards…”

Following the disastrous oil leak earlier this year, BP will make sure it’s more prepared for the next environmental disaster. Taking a page from Monsanto’s book, BP will begin genetically engineering aquatic wildlife that is impervious to crude oil and oil dispersant chemicals. New Orleans will embrace the change and adopt an oil spill-based economy.

Full body scanners will become somehow even more invasive when TSA agents strap on lead vests and start looking inside airline patrons for plastic explosives hidden in their lower intestines. Those who opt out will get a free colonoscopy.

Jack White will start his fifth band side project, a Vuvuzela quartet called Toot Sweet. Their self-titled debut album will be optioned by the military to be used in combat situations after their live show puts an entire audience in the hospital with brain hemorrhaging.

The U.S. government will declare war on Wikileaks. Carpet bombing to the website will cause significant collateral damage to the Internet. Several Lolcats will be killed in the firestorm. As a reparation, the government will give free cheezburgerz to their survivors.

Resolution Revolution

After doing all the necessary research I decided to pop over to Times Square for the annual dropping of the ball. I figured, as long I’m here, I may as well make my resolutions.

So I resolved to stop making jokes about “Jersey Shore,” a show about a group of obnoxious people who live in Miami, only one of whom is from New Jersey. Okay, that was my last one, I swear.

Then I decided to check in with some celebrities and find out what the rich and famous are planning for 2011.

Lindsay Lohan will resolve to open a series of personally-branded rehab centers for washed-up child actors. They will institute a punch card system for faithful customers. Four visits and the fifth is free!

Justin Bieber, upset about not getting the Zhu Zhu Pet he wanted for Christmas, will resolve to stop talking to his parents. And  he’ll resolve to stop taking out the garbage because it’s unfair they make him do stuff. And he’ll run away from home to live with his aunt who loves him more.

Justin Bieber is a baby, is what I’m saying.

Levi Johnston will resolve to distance himself from the Palin family. His first step in a new lease on life: to change his name to Apple Bottom Johnston.

Back at OU, President Gary Russi will resolve to one day wear shorts to the office.

Based on the popularity of OUSC’s hammock initiative, President Brandon Gustafson will resolve to run for re-election on a hammock oriented platform. Hammocks will replace regular seating in most classrooms.

And Snooki, who was arrested earlier this year for being criminally annoying, will resolve to lobby the criminal justice system to set standards for what levels of annoying constitute a crime. For future reference.

Crap. That was what, twenty seconds? Well, I’m getting better, at least. Anyway, Happy 2011!

They line the storefronts at 3 a.m., shivering in the darkness. Drunk on tryptophan from the feast from just a few hours prior, Black Friday shoppers huddle by the windows in hopes of buying a plasma screen TV at a $50 discount.

On the other side, in the warmth of the Best Buy, employees stare in horror and dread the chaos that is about to befall them. Friends will abandon each other. Someone will get punched. The Black Friday enthusiasts know this, but they have been hardened by the cold. Nothing will stand between them and their sweet, sweet savings.

Black Friday shopping is not for the faint of heart. If you’ve never experienced Black Friday, now is not the time to start. The veterans will tear you apart. People have been shot doing this. People have been trampled to death. But if you insist on braving the madness to get your hands on a cheap GPS, you should come well prepared.

This guide is designed to prepare you for every possible predicament, and keep you alive while standing in one place in freezing temperatures for hours on end.

Listed here are a few of the essentials for Black Friday survival.

Secure Dwelling

Where expensive electronics are concerned, shoppers may have set up tents days in advance that snake around the building, creating a small village in the parking lot. The die-hards make Black Friday into a twisted tailgating event, grilling steaks on the sidewalk and watching portable TVs in their sleeping bags. A tent will give you a great place to retreat to if the weather turns nasty. Remember, nobody who got a new laptop for $150 let a wind-chill advisory or a foot of snow deter them.

Walkie-Talkie Device

You may go out with a group of friends and split up to cover more ground. It may be a good idea to coordinate on a set of Walkie-Talkies, like a budget savvy Jack Bauer. “Wango Tango, what is your position?” “Currently on perimeter of JC Penney. Received word of roller blades on clearance at Toys R Us!” “Roger that! Moving in to secure assorted cheese set! Over!”

Heating Apparatus

Even with enough clothing on that you look like the coat pile from your Christmas party, you’re going to want an external heat source you can take with you. Some kind of outdoor patio heater will provide you with a place to warm your hands while meditating on the coming storm.

Your fellow doorbusters are probably going to ask to share your heater. Resist the urge to turn this into a campfire sing-along. These people are not your friends. The same person who was laughing with you and telling amusing anecdotes out on the curb will be body checking you into the checkout counter as they make a beeline for an Xbox Kinect.

Keep everyone from getting too close to your heater. There is no fellowship on Black Friday. There is only awkward, nervous laughter as the shoppers take a mental inventory of their compatriots: “That guy, I could trample if I had to.”

Visually-intimidating Outerwear

The most important thing to note is that Black Friday is invariably the coldest day yet of the year. Come-ill prepared, and police will be chiseling your frozen body off the sidewalk the following afternoon.

Layer your clothing. Start light and get gradually heavier as you go: First, suit up in the all-important long underwear, then add a long sleeve shirt, ugly Christmas sweater, hoodie, winter coat, earmuffs, scarf, wool hat, blue jeans, sweat pants and snow pants. Put on so many layers that your puffy arms are stuck pointing outward from your body like an obese scarecrow. Put on so many layers you are uncomfortable. Then throw a snuggie on over that.

Thermos Bandolier

You’re going to get hungry out there waiting for the green light, so come with no fewer than five thermoses. You can fill them with chicken soup, coffee, hot chocolate, energy drinks, liquid Vivarin and anything you can think of to keep your energy and body heat up. If you’re falling asleep by the time the destined hour begins, all your efforts will have been for nothing.

Be sure to leave one of the thermoses empty. You can’t exactly step out of line to use the bathroom. Anyone who says they’ll hold your place in line is a liar. But of course, all that bourbon and coffee has to go somewhere. The empty bottle is there to hold your contents. Just make certain that all thermoses are labeled clearly.

Commanding Stature

If you can help it, be 6-foot, 4-inches tall by Black Friday. Smart retailers will hand out wristbands for big-ticket items to stop people from racing to grab them once the floodgate is open. Other stores act as bizarro cattle ranchers, funneling customers through the entrance and into aisles. Don’t be surprised if you’re hit with a cattle prod at some point in the night.

There is a very real danger of being crushed underfoot here, so if you can’t be built like a linebacker, try to make yourself look bigger, like a blowfish. Alternately, bring along your friend who works as a bouncer to plow a path to savings Nirvana.

Illustration by Jason Willis

Thanksgiving comes every year and leaves us groggy, with unfastened belts, passed out in front of the television, watching the Lions lose.

But what it leaves in its wake is several weeks worth of leftover turkey sandwiches. Or in some cases, leftover turducken sandwiches.

For the uninitiated, a turducken is a de-boned chicken stuffed into a de-boned duck, stuffed into a de-boned turkey.

Food pioneers have constructed the turbaconducken, a turducken wrapped in bacon, and the turbaconduckenriblets, which is a turbaconducken with a beef riblet core.

Thanksgiving is an American tradition, and what’s more American than stuffing meat with meat? Besides maybe an explosion. A meat-based explosion.

Now you can take the Matroyshka doll of fatty foods and ensconce it in a setting of bread and ranch dressing.

They say that suicides increase significantly during the holidays. I’m inclined to agree, although I’m sure a good portion of those are accidental, sandwich-related suicides.

Photo illustration by Jason Willis

If there’s one thing I was missing from sitting on my ass and playing video games, it’s standing up and flailing my limbs around like I have carpenter ants in my shorts while playing video games.

I’ve been playing video games since I was drinking Squeeze-Its, sitting on shag carpeting and playing “Bible Adventures” on a relative’s NES. Pro-tip: If you chuck Baby Moses in the water and finish the level anyway, you technically still win.

Things have changed since then. The controllers have gone from having two buttons, to having far too many buttons, to requiring you to swing the controller around wildly to get any reaction at all.

Now the controller has been replaced entirely with my pale, misshapen body.

There was a time when we could all sit immobile on the couch in the basement and stare at the old cathode ray tube for hours, and then ask questions like, “What time is it?” and “Did I remember to eat today?”

Nintendo Wii

Then the Nintendo Wii was released, a motion control system aimed at a wider audience, including people who wear diapers while eating Gerber creamed bananas and people who wear diapers while eating Metamucil.

As soon as everyone stopped making penis jokes for a moment and calmed down enough to try it, they were shocked at what we discovered. A game where you have to stand? And swing your arms like a windmilling Pete Townshend? And there’s this scale thing that knows precisely how fat I am? It was simultaneously humiliating, physically exhausting and potentially life threatening, since a mishandled Wii remote can fire through your television like a hurricane launching a fencepost through a tree.

And Nintendo proceeded to sell forty kajillion of them.

These days, no one even flinches at questions like, “Want to come over and play with my Wii?”

Even your Grandma has heard of the Wii. She plays it weekly at her retirement village, where whoever wins at Wii Bowling gets a coupon for extra pudding.

Rival game makers Sony and Nintendo saw the Nintendo Wii and said, “What? What is that? Why don’t we have that?”

Playstation Move

Sony immediately began to produce their competing product, the Playstation Move, which was released to the public last month. The Move was designed to appeal to the sort of gamers who shunned the Wii for being too childish. So they made the controller look like a lollipop.

It’s easy to make comparisons between the Move and the Wii controller. But the Move is different in crucial ways. For example:

1. It has a Sony logo on it.

2. Uh.

By the time the Move was released, the Wii had a stagnate collection of shooting, boxing and dancing games. Recognizing this, Sony responded by releasing a fresh stable of new jams, including “The Shoot,” “The Fight” and a brand new “Dance Dance Revolution” game.

Xbox Kinect

At the same time, Microsoft readied their own salvo of games for the Xbox Kinect, released this week. The Kinect is an add-on for the Xbox 360 that presupposes, “Minority Report was a cool movie! Why do we even have controllers? Let’s just wave our arms around like Tom Cruise!”

By eliminating the controller entirely, the Kinect aims to immerse players completely in the games experience. Allegedly, you’ll be able to lose yourself in experience of white-water rafting, right up until you realize that you’re sitting on your couch flailing your arms like invisible elves are hovering around you.

If you thought the Wii was dangerous to innocent bystanders, wait until you backhand your little sister trying to “bust a move” like Young MC while playing “Dance Central.”

YouTube is currently preparing for a deluge of clips titled “Kinect FAIL.”

The Kinect also features the ability to watch movies and navigate your desktop using only the sound of your voice.

No word so far on whether the Kinect has preventative measures for when your roommate inevitably runs in and yells, “Xbox off!” in the middle of a marathon “Mad Men” viewing session.

Both the Kinect and the Move have a game where you can pet an invisible dog and look at your TV to see what it would be like if your imaginary friend were real.

The Next Big Thing

Since the prevailing logic in the game industry is to abandon controllers in favor of the human body, I assume the next big thing is to abandon our bodies and become beings of pure thought.

I’ve heard some rumors that the Playstation 7 is not going to be compatible with all life-support nutri-pods.

So go ahead and play those sweaty, repetitive motion control games. I’ll be resting comfortably in my time-worn ass groove on my ancient sofa, playing “Bible Adventures” in the basement. Pass me a Squeeze-It.

Photo illustration by Jason Willis

10. Sears has put up its giant inflatable nativity scene. The inflatable Baby Jesus will be placed on December 25.

9. The radio begins playing “Jingle Bell Rock” on infinite loop.

8. Holiday specials of your favorite shows choke the airwaves, like “The Situation Saves Christmas.”

7. Downtown Rochester looks like the movie, “Tron,” full of walls of sheer light.

6. Best Buy is hiring extra holiday staff. New hires are to be unceremoniously executed on the 26th.

5. It’s become socially acceptable to wear sweaters with reindeer and trees embroidered on them.

4. The Tofurkeys are roasting on an open flame.

3. The hysterically laughing old guy in the red jumpsuit outside of K-Mart becomes reassuring, rather than creepy.

2. People who put candy in their socks are considered socially acceptable.

1. You can’t find the hot new toy, Tickle-me Al Gore.

The William Beaumont School of Medicine is going to open its doors next fall. The school gained preliminary accreditation in February and is currently interviewing applicants for the school’s charter class.

What is the status of the William Beaumont School of Medicine’s accreditation?

Russi: It really is (a reality for next fall). It’s going extremely well. First of all, all the accreditations have been achieved. The medical school accreditation body, the Liaison Community on Medical Education (LCME) has approved us; the North Central Association has approved us, and of course now we’ve opened the doors for admissions.

How competitive is the applicant pool?

Russi: The last count I had was at about 2,800 applications for 50 spots.  At the moment, the quality of those applications is the best in the state, which is really quite good.

The representation is from a lot of states in the country. First is Michigan, second is California and then we get into the East Coast. The primary feeder school is the University of Michigan, it is of course the top school.

How are staffing and fundraising going?

Russi: The Dean (Robert Forlberg) is now hiring the faculty. He is also hiring clinical faculty so then we will have the basic faculty and then the clinical faculty. The fundraising continues, and it’s going well. We have just had two recent visits from people who have committed a million dollars each.

What has the general reaction been to the medical school?

Russi: The excitement about the medical school in the region and this area continues to be extremely high. I also noticed an uptick in the number of students who are coming in for the basic sciences and in pre-med, and I think that’s a natural expectation.  We are seeing it, and we’re delighted with that because those students are really excellent students who bring passion for going into medicine.

Is there special consideration given to OU graduates when it comes to the school’s graduate and professional programs?

Russi: The answer is yes, yes, yes.  I think, if you think about it, a good example is our physical therapy program. It is unbelievable — very few people get into that program. That factored in (gives applicants) one-tenth of one percent, but that makes a difference.

They make it up front if you’re an Oakland student. So yes, there will be a consideration as we move forward. If a student is with us for four years and they want to be in a professional program, they should be given it some serious look.

Photo by Michael Buckner/Getty Images For AXE

A short while back, jaded Weezer fan James Burns offered the band $10 million to break up and stop producing music. The only matter was raising the 10 mil, which he planned to do through Internet donations. Well sadly, Burns pulled the plug on his campaign with a mere $9,999,615 to go.

While it did succeed in stopping everyone on the Internet from watching Double Rainbow remixes for a few seconds, it also got me thinking. If I could simply pay bands to break up, there are a lot more obvious choices than Weezer. Right now, I’ll put down the contents of my pockets — $3.29 and a coupon for a free Chik-Fil-A sandwich — towards a fund to get Nickelback to call it quits.

To replace them, we can create a robot with gelled hair that churns out Nickelback lyrics with the following format:

I live the life of a rockstar, and am awesome

Attempt to rhyme a word with awesome

Joke about oral sex written by a 12-year-old

Words strung together to be unintelligible

WHOOOOOAWOOOOMAAAAANNNYEAAAAAAH

Little-known fact: In Colorado Springs, a station played “Hero” on the radio, and then someone called in to request they play it a second time, back-to-back. In half an hour,  area emergency rooms were full of patients admitted with bleeding ears.

Here’s another idea: What if we instead raised the money necessary to send Justin Bieber to a military academy? The way he goes around pistol whipping kids in laser tag arenas, he certainly seems to have the temperament for it. And while he’s in boot camp, no Justin Bieber! Everyone wins!

If I had the means, I would pay the Black Eyed Peas $10 million to stop making music in a heartbeat. Coincidentally, ten million is the number of times the lyrics, “I got a feeling/Tonight’s gonna be a good night” are used in their hit song “I Got A Feeling (Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Night).” The rest of the song is made up of random Yiddish words.

Of course this payment would come with the stipulation that all Black Eyed Peas stop making music, including Fergie, Will.i.am and Scrawny Dreadlocks Guy.

Then it dawned on me that this deal is quite lucrative for the individuals targeted. What if I offered to resign as Mouthing Off editor,  provided that I get compensated? I mean, surely people must find me annoying; basically all I do is complain about television and sandwiches.

But I realize that $10 million is a high bar for most students in this economy to aspire to, so I plan to introduce a payment plan. Get the appropriate response for the amount you contribute. For each level, I will steal an adequate amount of office supplies on my way out.

If you donate at the $1,000 introductory level, I will threaten to quit, rant about how bad this newspaper has gotten, and then quietly change my mind.

For those who contribute at the $20,000 level get the base “Johnny Paycheck” model, I will get up on the conference table during a staff meeting, declare that I “am so over” this place, grab a bunch of pens and run out. I may also shout “woo.”

If you manage to raise our premium million dollar “Whiteboard Girl” level, I will eviscerate our printer with a sledgehammer in “Office Space” fashion, change all the  office desktop images to a picture of me throwing up a middle finger, and Mouthing Off will feature every curse word I know.

You will also get a cute mug with a cat on it who dislikes Mondays.

And lastly, should you manage to collect enough for the $10 million “Golden Steven Slater” level, you get the full package. I will first, without telling anyone, hire Zack Braff to play the role of me. After one week, during our weekly meeting, Braff will present a cake to the office made of laxatives and fiber. The plate underneath the super-poop cake will read “I QUIT.”

Around noon, a Mariachi band will come into the office and play a folk tale about how I quit my job. At the same time, a skywriting plane will spell out the phrase, “Rory is out, suckaz.”

At 8 p.m. on production night, a well compensated groundsworker will cut the power to the Oakland Center. At this time my co-workers will discover a message written in glow-in-the-dark paint, reading “Gotcha, bitches.”

It’s nothing personal. It’s about $10 million. Operators are standing by.

Illustration by Jason Willis

10. Guns for Land Initiative: “Turn in your Glock, get a city block”

9. Sell the city to Mike Ilitch and rename it “Caesarland;” he already owns like 80 percent of Detroit, so what the hell

8. Take out a huge insurance policy on City Hall and wait for an arsonist to burn it down

7. Make a $1000 bet on the Lions to lose every game next season, then get them to throw the games (it will look totally plausible)

6. Rename it “New Hollywood” and convert the Big 3 into movie studios

5. Cut the leaking roof off of Cobo Hall and make it into a coliseum; have Detroit City council fight to the death

4. Let Michael Bay actually blow up our unused buildings for his next blockbuster film

3. Make a Pure Detroit campaign, have Tim Allen talk about our verdant casinos and liquor stores

2. Have Kid Rock actually make his “Made in Detroit” clothing line in Detroit

1. Build a RoboCop to take back the streets; Use Mitch Albom for a base

Graphic By Carla Butwin

I have seen the future, and it is full of angry, bulky, pimply men.

I was thrilled to hear play-by-play sports commentator Brent Musburger’s comments about steroid use to University of Montana journalism students last week. His argument was that steroids get results. If professional sports players are going to keep using steroids regardless of whether or not it’s allowed, why not just legalize it?

And what about the wrongfully-prosecuted accidental steroid users, who “never knowingly took steroids,” whose only crime is not reading labels?

Does Rafael Palmeiro deserve to have his career tarnished for a simple misunderstanding? To quote the man himself, “I thought they were antacids.”

We spend so much time investigating steroid use just to see if our sports accomplishments are legitimate. What does it matter if Barry Bonds can hit a baseball at the speed of sound? The important thing is, he can. We should spend less time worrying about what Bonds pumps into his body, and more time worrying about the low-flying aircraft threatened by steroid fueled grand slams.

I can tell that Musburger is on to something here. This is where we’re headed. I gassed up The Oakland Post time machine and took a trip to the year 2030 to find out how sports have changed after the 2022 legalization of anabolic steroids and steroid injections are mandatory in baseball.

Upon my arrival at Comerica Park, I noticed several changes to the traditional baseball diamond. First off, the field has bulletproof glass barriers erected around the perimeter to protect sports patrons from home runs.

Bats are made of vibranium alloy to better withstand the explosive force of a roid-fueled pitch meeting a roid-fueled swing. A charity organization has been created to compensate the widows of players killed by bean balls.

New padded uniforms have been issued to players who develop man-breasts. Therapists are on staff during the game to counteract the effects of irrational chemical induced rage between innings.

I also noticed that in 2030 a hot dog and a can of Coke at Comerica Park costs $30.75. So some things haven’t changed.

I found the once disgraced Jose Canseco now proudly adorns the Wheaties box, and is recognized as a pioneer in the field of doping.

Pump up the jam

But baseball is not the only sport that has been changed by legal steroid use, as I quickly learned. Brett Favre texted me a picture of his shrunken testicles within minutes of my arrival in the future.

Hockey revolves almost entirely around fighting. The winner is usually the team with the fewest players ejected by referees, and penalty boxes can fit ten players with bulging biceps.

The Winter Olympics are in controversy over whether to disqualify figure skaters who smash the ice following a fifteen-foot triple Salchow.

Curling has exploded in popularity as the curling community embraced the shift to mandatory steroid usage. The curling lanes are four kilometers long, and new rules were created to govern scoring for pieces of shrapnel from shattered curling stones. Some leagues allow players to use snowmobiles to keep pace with the stones.

Speed swimmers must be shaved hourly to counteract out of control hair growth and maintain their aerodynamic sleekness. In track and field, runners’ lanes have been widened to accommodate their massively muscular thighs, which also must be oiled before each heat to prevent chafing.

Basketball has transformed into the video game version of basketball, with players routinely leaping up into the rafters and performing 720 backflip slam dunks. To keep pace, video game basketball has become even more ridiculous. Pro tip: Rodney Stuckey’s laser beam eyes technique in NBA Jam 2029 is the most useful move in the game.

Brand new sports have been developed as well. Equestrian dodgeball, the most violent sport I saw, was created when two college club sports lacking enough members merged. By 2030, it’s become a Division I sport. A no-holds-barred, underground version has become a hotbed for gambling.

However, new diseases have been transmitted to humans, as steeds and riders sharing a supply of horse steroids occasionally swap needles.

School spirit

But just as Musburger said, steroids should have no place in high school sports. I mean, we’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Steroids intermingling with out-of-control teenage hormones would result in sheer pandemonium.

Nonetheless, a new scandal has arisen over young athletes imitating their sports heroes, encouraged by team coaches to get the edge over the competition. Some school administrators have discussed legalizing steroids for grades seven and up.

Something we didn’t anticipate is that the rampant acne you get in high school makes you more popular instead of a social pariah.

I should probably wrap this up. After my enlightening trip to the future, I took a quick jaunt back to 1996 to pick up a six-pack of Surge. But I probably stepped on a butterfly or some crap because now my left hand keeps disappearing and I’ve have had to type this whole article with my right.

While I still have a corporeal hand, let me use it to raise a toast to the future of professional sports. Violent, chemical-fueled sports.