I, the Passenger, would like to be knighted. You hear that, Lizzie Regina? Don't tell me I need to be a citizen of the crown; look here, I've never lived in Washington, D.C., yet I send money there every April. "Sir Passenger of Sin City" has got a sweet smell to it. I don't need a crown; I'll just have my fez duly ordained over the phone.

While you're at it, others in Department Lemur have royal requests they would like filled. Jennifer the Great wants a crack at your job, just without - repeat, WITHOUT -marrying any one of your pasty offspring. Bryan the Most Quoteworthy wants you to revoke Elton John's knighthood, and kick him real hard in the ass while you're at it. (So do I.) Lord Mark of the Baseball Cap wants you to appoint Jesse Ventura Supreme Ruler of Canada. And Guy - just Guy - wants you to issue a proclamation that will reunite Judas Priest. You got another thing coming, Reggie!
 

Though its printed days are past, bOING bOING continues the best damn 'zine in the world - now better than ever in its evolved, purely digital state of being. It's Giant Robot without the rave-kid techno-malarkey, Monk without the two creepy guys, Tweak without the allusions to "Dionysian Karma." (Actually ... I rather like that phrase. Strike that last aside from the minutes.) Created by writer/illustrator Mark Frauenfelder, bOING bOING is a funny, informative, atomic-powered Frankenstein, tricked out with the sleekest parts the popular culture has to offer. Here you'll find Terre Thaemlitz' sociopolitical take on MAD Magazine/Dave Berg's pre-Subgenius sage Roger Kaputnik, Mary Belton's well-tanned and poignant visit to a nudist colony, Matt Maranian's dream date with Nina "Universal Radio" Hagen, the worst videos of all time and what happens when teddy bears get heavy. Lucid, elegant, classic.
 

Wow, Edgar Allan Poe is 190 years old already! It seems like just yesterday that we first read, with grim resignation, his homely narratives ... nodded our heads patronizingly when he threatened to hit us with "the dread sentence of death" ... hit hard the Amontillado, which I swear to this day I can't tell from sherry. This appreciation site - hosted, appropriately enough, by Gothic.net (http://www.gothic.net/) - puts the legacy of this true American literary talent right into your trembling hands, with a killer archive of Poe's poetry and prose, a bottomless list of films based on those works and a splendid links page. The only thing I can't find is the name of the soul who made it all possible; he or she goes by the nom de guerre "Nevermore." Poe would likely respect and appreciate both the tribute to his work and the content developer's playful anonymity. " 'Tis some webmaster," he might have said, "and nothing more."
 

The Passenger is watching too much Cartoon Network these days. It can't be healthy - staying up late to watch reruns of Animaniacs, discussing episodes of Warner Bros. latest "Batman" animated series with salon-like reverence, bobbing my head to the faboo bass-and-drums theme of Craig "No Neck Joe" McCracken's Powerpuff Girls as they beat the hell out of effete uber-villain "Him." And the network website is furthering my obsession to no small degree. I read nascent talk-show host Space Ghost's reviews and daily news updates religiously ("LOS ANGELES: Music industry executives are steadfast in their assertion that New Age musician Yanni is not an elaborate joke cynically being foisted upon the public"). I admire, again and again, the pre-Lillith new-feminist chic of Velma. I pore through the flotsam and jetsam of the Council of Doom's personal webpages (Space Ghost's sworn enemies have been gifted with the best parody of cloying personal homepages you'll ever see). Yeah, maybe it's a sickness. Maybe not.
 

I'm not a romantic guy by nature. Everything I've done for my beloved - the roses, the subdued Jeff Buckley music on the hi-fi, the smooth tubs of (non-dairy) Quickie Whip - is learned behavior, trial and error. That, among other reasons too embarrassing to mention, is why I'm awfully glad to have the Cyrano Server - as in de Bergerac, the fellow with the nose - in my corner. Cyrano takes your despairing prose and makes it sing; whittles a bucket of nouns and adjectives into a love poem so finely crafted, you could sell it at Pier One. Just fill out the form fields (it looks suspiciously like a Mad Lib, but never you mind) and allow Cyrano to quickie-whip together a personalized heartfelt entreaty, steamy plea for cuddlin' or searing kiss-off that will be e-mailed directly to the object of your fixations. Very nice - not as nice as Quickie Whip, but very nice.

My first official act as a Knight of the Crown will be to give everyone an equal chance of getting some nookie. Sound good to you? Send a letter of endorsement to passenger@vegaslounge.com and I'll see that Queenie gets it, along with my resume. Cheerio!