The journalists at the Ann Arbor Chronicle, in a pathetic attempt to unseat me as the most powerful man in Washtenaw County, have set out on a shameless campaign of lies and innuendo. On their website today, they’re running the following photo of me.
Do you see it?
Do you see what they’ve done?
And, no, it’s not that they said I had claws. I don’t care about that. I know I have bony, little hands that look like rat feet. It doesn’t bother me.
It’s that they’ve altered the photo so as to give you the false impression that the young woman sitting next to me isn’t totally engrossed in what I’m telling her… It’s simply not true… I was there. I should know. She didn’t take her eyes off me for the whole five minutes that I was telling her my story about the inexplicably lukewarm doorknob at my grandmother’s apartment. (No matter how hot or cold it is, this doorknob remains a consistent temperature. It’s really the damndest thing.)
Anyway, before I retain an attorney so that I can go after a few of those big sacks of Chronicle advertising money that Dave and Mary have squirreled away, I wanted to get the word out to people who may have attended this event that I am looking for other photos showing the conversation between myself and this young woman, and the half dozen other women who you can’t see from this angle, who were looking dreamily at me as though I were Shaun Cassidy, or whoever it is that the young girls are going crazy for these days.
11 Comments
You look like you’re groping an imaginary breast. No surprise, really, to those of us who have met you in person. Whenever you’re trying to make what you think is a very important point, you make the “groping a breast gesture.”
Everyone who knows you refers to it. For example:
“Yah, I was talking with Mark Maynard the other night and he was saying how we needed to have a local ‘art for digital gas tax parole transit children’s commission,’ then he totally started his groping gesture, and I like zipped up sweater and split.”
The look on that young woman’s face is oh so familiar.
I know it’s not much of an excuse, but I come from Kentucky.
Hunter Thompson was a writer from Kentucky, too, wasn’t he.
I guess it really is a Kentucky
thing.
To answer your question:
Libel is published, slander is spoken.
Does your grandmother live in an apartment complex? I guess I’m just wondering whether or not the doorknob to her apartment is actually located outside where it would be prone to the whim of the elements.
Defamation (Wiki)
Typically, the fingers are pointed toward the person whose soul is being sucked, but here, it appears your backhand is sucking the soul out of her. Fascinating.
He’s clearly got her in a trance, explaining what she has to do on his behalf.
Mark, I hate to break it to you but as I understand, a public figure can’t be slandered.
And you, you’re a public figure.
And you eat babies.
Um, the name of the late 1970s heartthrob is Shaun Cassidy. Take it from someone who was a tween girl during his heyday.
Thank you, Ypsifixit. You have the distinction of being the first person, in my 6+ years of posting, to have found an error. Enjoy it.