Good morning! Here is your pre-weekend reminder that our new president, Donald Trump, lies. He lies, habitually and glaringly. To the people who support him, to the people who hate him, to the people who work for him. This isn't fake news; this is a fact so well-documented it verges on the wearisome. It's just a thing he does. He lies. Keep it in mind. All right, moving on:
Seven of the pelicans taken in after falling ill with that enigmatic Pinellas County pelican funk were well enough to be released back into the wild yesterday. So when you see them airborne and silhouetted against the sunset as you cross the Howard Frankland on your way home today, smile and remember there is hope in the world. Then when you get home, get on your computer and try to find something incriminating enough to put a polluter in jail, OK? And email Kate about it.
There was a three-alarm fire at the lovely and famous downtown Marriott Tampa Waterside last night. Surprisingly, my parents were not staying there. See, when my parents came to town for our wedding, they stayed at the Marriott in St. Pete, and that caught fire, too, but you would've needed to know that to understand why the previous sentence was funny, and this is an example of how not to tell a joke.
Miami rapper Stitches is an asshole. Parking illegally in handicapped spaces with an unsecured gun in your car while covered with shitty facial tattoos is no way to go through life, son.
Three words: Extra. Crispy. Fries.
And finally, did you see that dick who made the social media rounds earlier this week for walking around Gainesville's UF campus with a Nazi armband? Yesterday, a couple of dudes beat him down and took his armband and jacket. Which is... well, there's really no other word for it than "delicious." Let me be clear about this: Creative Loafing does not condone violence. Let me also be clear that I, personally, am absolutely fine with public Nazi beatings. "But he's free to express himself," you might say, and that's true, but if you don't understand the difference between wearing your favorite band's T-shirt and aligning yourself with a racist regime that gassed six million people, I don't give a shit about your opinion. "But where will it stop," you might ask, and I would answer, "There. Right there. No slippery slope. Just randos righteously punching Nazis in the street."