Tailpipe

Executive Editor Sandee Birdsong didn't respond to several interview requests, possibly because she also works as a chef at the chichi Miami Beach hangout Tantra, Sordellini explained. Tailpipe wanted to ask Birdsong about her August column, in which she pointed out that "men have become comfortable and women are driven by competition." Then she mused about "the female future" which -- can you dig it? -- doesn't necessarily include men. At all. "In theory," she wrote, "scientists believe two female eggs can be joined in the act of procreation, therefore eliminating the male role."

Tailpipe first heard about this in an old Star Trek episode. That one ended badly, didn't it? Something about Capt. Kirk in a boiling quicksand pit, the 'Pipe thinks.

Mad Mailer

On October 1, the FBI arrested 46-year-old former Browardite Dane Swindell in Memphis, Tennessee, for allegedly sending 25 envelopes filled with white powder to public officials around Broward County, including Sheriff Ken Jenne and Fort Lauderdale Mayor Jim Naugle. When agents arrived at Swindell's doorstep, he admitted sending the letters. They were filled with harmless flour. Still, Swindell is staring down a federal indictment for "using a hoax weapon of mass destruction." He faces up to 15 years in prison if convicted.

Federal prosecutors might want to take Swindell's unique world view into account. This rusty cylinder had a nice, long phone conversation with Swindell two months ago.

"Jim Naugle and Ken Jenne are running a top-secret program from the Fort Lauderdale city jail," Swindell insisted. He and other gay men had been implanted with microscopic mind-control devices intended to force them to infiltrate drug rings throughout Broward County. However, numerous CAT scans failed to detect the device lodged behind his ear. It was a huge conspiracy: drug lords, rogue cops, dead bodies, and dirty money flowing into the coffers of public officials.

"But, wait, wait," the 'Pipe asked Swindell. "The Fort Lauderdale city jail is closed. It's empty, man."

"It's closed?" Swindell asked, honestly surprised.

"Yeah."

"Well, uh," Swindell said, pausing as he began to make the extraordinary leap in logic performed only by the most ardent conspiracy theorists. "Of course it's closed. They closed it to make way for their mind-control program."

The Price of Patriotism

It's not easy being Uncle Sam. This was especially true at last week's Sen. John Edwards speech in West Palm Beach, where professional clown Jack "Banjo" Williams from Delray Beach took a good hour of abuse before finding himself in a very lucky spot.

Before the start of the speech, 70-year-old Williams worked the crowd in a star-spangled outfit that made him look like a patriotic Raggedy Andy with a top hat. Williams, a retired social worker, pulled an American flag from his clenched fist for a bit of magic. "This flag right here doesn't belong to the Republicans," he said. But the trick drew the ire of an Edwards camp volunteer. All signs and flags are outlawed at the event, Banjo was frostily informed. Williams went on to work the crowd with card tricks.

The clown bit helped him beat depression, he said, and he hasn't had a drop of liquor in six years. (No surprise there. Tailpipe always figured Uncle Sam as a secret boozer.) Another volunteer tapped on Williams' shoulder. "Sir, can you take off your hat? You're blocking the view," the woman said grumpily, pointing to the rows of retirees in folding chairs.

Williams tried to blend into the lunchtime crowd waiting for a tardy Edwards. But another operative soon beckoned him to the back of the room. Apparently, Uncle Sam, at about six feet, was too tall. "I'm going to have to ask Uncle Sam to come back here so elderly people have a view."

The unfazed Williams worked the crowd in the back of the room until he saw an opening. With volunteers distracted by a fainting audience member, Williams sneaked toward the stage. A chair in the front row was miraculously unoccupied (maybe the fainting man had been sitting there). Minutes later, as Edwards entered the event, Williams shook his hand.

"It's a good day to be a clown," Williams said after the stump speech. "My endorphins are through the roof."

-- As told to Edmund Newton