Before we go into the exciting copy inside, let me tell you what is not in this issue: a potential academic scandal; a potentially dirty lawman; a probable devil propped up by spooks; a local landmark’s shaky future; state auditors in need of editing; local chefs with heaping helpings of heart; and Michael Moore’s big, fat, floating face. Don’t those sound great? Sadly, they didn’t make this week’s cut, which just goes to show that no matter how much planning goes into a newspaper—even unreal newspapers like this one—Shiite happens, facts need more time to catch up to reporting and there’s never enough space for all the gooey goodness we’d love to shovel into your pieholes, like so many tons of garlic-smashed potatoes. For that, I apologize. OK, I don’t really apologize, but I am disappointed. Actually, disappointed puts it too strongly. Let’s just say I feel your pain, although it all depends on what your definition of “is” is.

But mark my words: You’ll read the stories cryptically glossed over above in a future edition. Maybe. In theory. Depends on how things shake out. See, we here at SN&R aren’t “slaves” to your “rules,” maaaan. We adjust, we bob, we weave, we serpentine, serpentine. The result of that fluidity is “product” (ugh!) that’s chock full of surprises.

Hell, I’m surprised we even had a paper after those other stories fell out.

That’s old news now. Actually, it’ll be new news once you read it, if you ever do. Until then, marvel at this spankalicious issue filled with SALAM imam Mohamed Abdul-Azeez—whose tall/young/handsomeness really cramps my style—as well as a funny headline over the Guest Comment; a sophomoric essay on uranium (which still leaves out any reference to Uranus); tales from the north on fisheries, power plants and a Schwarzenegger road show (not to be confused with Ahnuld’s tranny grope, the page before); pho and pushcarts and Mr. Lobo and Raymond Carver and the Bard and the Amazonian Queen of Trash and your daddy’s songs and your sick Paris Hilton prison fantasies and a simply wang-tacular measuring stick. So enjoy—or wait a week.