Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

In A Perfect World...

In a perfect world, people would be equal.  They would defer to one another when making decisions, respecting choices, thoughts, beliefs.

In a perfect world, we would have no need for bombs, guns, prisons or fear.  There would be an Iraq, but it would be a place on a map, not a symbol of death, tyranny and strife.

In a perfect world, we would shed only tears of joy, not of hate, anger or pain.

In a perfect world, all the world's children would be wanted, cherished, treasured and protected, never knowing neglect, abuse or terror.

But our world is not perfect.  And with each day that passes, we find out just how far from perfect we, and it, truly are.

Today's reminder came in the form of two small children, lives not nearly begun, taken in a way that can only be described as horrific.

Thursday, in Hoffman Estates, Illinois, Tonya Vasilev, brutally attacked, and attacked, and attacked and attacked her nine year old son and three year old daughter.  Each of their small bodies had over 200 stab wounds a piece.

200 stab wounds a piece.

I could not help the tears that began to flow when I first read this.  All I could think and all I keep thinking is that sometime yesterday while I was doing laundry or eating lunch or buying toilet paper at WalMart, these two children were fighting for their lives.

And they did.

According to preliminary autopsy reports, these precious children both have defense injuries, showing they tried in vain to save themselves from the attack. 

And how much more horrible was their death, looking into the face of their mother, who as they screamed in pain and begged her to stop, betrayed the most sacred gift a child gives an adult - trust - and kept right on stabbing them over and over until there was nothing left but silence.

The world is not perfect - I KNOW this.  But somehow, despite how completely f*cked up we adults are towards one another, children should never be the victims of our hate, our insanity, our violence, our neglect, our inability to do the right thing.

There has been no reason given, as yet, for the killings.  What reason could there possibly be?  "Reason" implies justification and there is absolutely no way to justify a slaughter of this magnitude.  But we all know what legal term is in the offing: Temporary Insanity.  In this imperfect world, lawyers have the perfect "out" for anyone who behaves so badly.

I don't want to hear this anymore.  I don't want to hear stories of "voices" in someone's head, of "God" telling them to do something, of "blacking out" and not knowing what they were doing.  I don't want to hear from this woman's neighbors that she was a "normal, decent person - a good mother".

These children were stabbed over 400 times.  Somewhere after the first scream, a normal, decent person would know they were doing something incredibly wrong.

I'm tired of excuses.  I'm tired of plea bargaining.  I'm tired of watching parents who abuse or kill their children get treated better than the child ever was.

In a perfect world, these two children would still be alive.  But since this imperfect world is left to deal with their imperfect mother, may I suggest an imperfect punishment?

400 stab wounds.

I imagine somewhere between her first scream and her last, she might finally get a perfect idea of what she did.

In memory of Christian and Gracie Vasilev - two perfect angels who now watch over this imperfect world. May they rest in peace.

A Child's Right To Choose?

It is always intriguing to me which stories manage to rise like cream and claim the top news spots, while others - equally interesting - somehow stay hidden beneath the surface.

For instance, it would surprise most people to know that the FBI receives over 2,000 missing child reports DAILY. TWO THOUSAND EVERY DAY.  And at most, we hear about one per week.  You have to wonder what is the criteria for your particular child making the front pages nationally or you being interviewed on CNN?  Are you articulate?  Does your kid have a good headshot they can show?

And what about Iraq?  We are informed, in technicolor, of every single car bomb, assassination and death - fed a steady diet of gore daily.  But why don't we see news stories about the 3,100 schools that have been renovated, 364 schools that are under rehabilitation, 263 schools that are now under construction and 38 new schools that have been built in Iraq?  It completely reinforces the fact that with the media, "if it bleeds, it leads".

I came across a story today, taking place in Florida, and it struck me as odd that this one has been kept so hush-hush.  Mind you, it's not a pleasant subject, concerning a minor and sex and abortion and the legal system - all the makings of a national front page story, but it's oddly remained out of the spotlight.

I, however, was touched enough upon learning about it, to drag it out in the daylight where we can all look at it, think about it and ask some serious questions within ourselves.  Namely: What would you do if this was your daughter?

The details are: A thirteen year old girl, living in a state shelter, is now 13 1/2 weeks pregnant.  She decided she wished to have an abortion, and the appointment was arranged by her caseworker for this past Tuesday.  Tuesday morning, the state Department of Children & Families asked a Palm Beach County juvenile judge to block the procedure.  He did, siding with the state which argued, "the girl is too young and immature to make an informed medical decision".

Now, obviously the ACLU is all over this case, citing Florida's own statutes that protect a minor's decision to decide on an abortion.  Howard Simons, ACLU rep in Florida states, "But putting aside the legalisms, forcing a 13-year-old to carry an unwanted pregnancy to term against her wishes not only is illegal and unconstitutional, it's cruel."

I agree.

I have a thirteen year old daughter.  She is not a baby, nor is she ready to bring one into this world.  That being said, I know exactly what she is capable of comprehending and feeling, and while I hope this decision is never placed before her, she would be able to make a completely informed decision on her own.

I am unafraid to state that I am Pro Choice - while I know I would never choose that option in my own life - I do not believe it is anyone else's right to tell someone what they can and cannot do with their bodies.  And until every Right To Lifer who pickets clinics carrying horrific posters of aborted fetuses, or who proudly slaps an "It's a child, not a choice" sticker on their bumper is prepared to not only take in every female seeking an abortion, but adopt the resulting child and cover all financial obligations, they need to shut up.

If all these people truly cared about the "life", then they would be offering to do this in droves.  What they care about, however, is the concept.  They are very good at talking the talk, but not walking the walk.

Now in the case of the 13 year in Florida, people want to point fingers at the adults who run the shelter.  How could this happen on their watch?  How did this girl end up pregnant in their care? 

THE SAME WAY EVERY OTHER TEEN GIRL DOES.

Kids are incredibly resourceful at the age of 3, going out of their way to hide what may get them in trouble.  By the time they are teens, they have raised deception to an artform.  I, myself, snuck around my parents more times than I can remember and got away with everything, but murder. 

So I can't truly fault the people who run the shelter program.  Besides, the horse is out of the barn already - the damage has been done.  What happens next will effect this girl's life - for the rest of her life.

She has chosen to have an abortion.  This is HER legal choice to make.  Forcing her to carry an unwanted pregnancy to term is completely, utterly WRONG.  You do not sacrifice someone else's rights, in order to make yourself feel better.

I hope the ACLU wins the appeal.  I hope the girl is able to move forward in life, having paid a very high price for the lesson she will have learned.  I hope this story finds it's way to a network news program near you.

But back to the question: What would I do if it were my daughter? 

Answer?  I hope it never is, but should this decision ever face her? I can love her.  I can guide her.  I can support her.  I cannot think for her.  I cannot feel for her.  I cannot choose for her.  The decision will not be MINE to make, it will be HERS. 

Which is exactly how it should be.

American Idol Scandals - When It Rains, It "Snows"?

As if the current spate of American Idol revelations was not enough:  Scott's past record of abuse; Paula's "drug-free", yet highly toxic behavior on camera, and yesterday's disclosure that 2nd season contestant Corey Clark may not have won the title, but got a "piece of the action" anyway from Ms. Abdul.

Now comes the latest, 'sniffed' out by the bloodhounds at The Smoking Gun.com - Bogart Bice has a cocaine/marijuana skeleton in his closet.  Yes children, apparently Harold enjoyed the "snow" many years back and in June 2001 was busted while "skiing" in a Huntsville strip mall.

Arrested and charged with a Class C Felony - he posted $1,000 bond and was released from the Madison County Jail.  When one of the arresting officers failed to show up at his hearing, the judge dismissed the case.  This was not the end, however.

Apparently feeling like a "Free Bird", he spread his wings and continued to fly high - being arrested two years (2003) later for not only possession of marijuana, but public intoxication and possession of drug paraphenalia (well, duh.  You gotta at least have a clip if you've got the doobie, right?). 

With prosecutors set to refile the original felony count, along with the new charges, Bobo agreed to enter a "diversion program" to avoid prosecution.  While pleading guilty to the intoxication charge (late 2004), he was able to apply his "diversion" participation to the other charges (he start the program in 2003 and completed in 2004)...The charges were wiped from his official record on April 28, 2004 - just in time for his Idol history to begin being made.

Considering he faced a maximum of 10 years in prison (although probation time would have been more likely for the first time offender), he must surely feel the surreality of his Reality TV fame one year later.

Upon learning of his recreational past, I could only imagine that he had confided it all to the Idol producers prior to the season's start.  If he hadn't, he must have been snorting something to think a juicy tidbit like this wouldn't surface.

As it turns out, he might be a criminal, but he's an honest one, having been completely up front with Fox and Idol.  These Smoking Gun revelations will have no Corey Clark-Frenchie Davis implications for the front runner.

You know, line this up (no pun intended) next to Mr. Savol's assault charge and we have a truly dysfunctional American family shaping up on the show.  What next?  Anthony is being sponsored by the Russian Mafia?  Carrie Underwood was once a pole dancer?  Vonzelle is a man?

I suppose the bitter truth is that everyone - to some extent - has issues in their past that they would prefer not see the light of day, let alone the browsers of millions of computer users.  It may not be a police record or illicit photos, but each of us can think of at least ONE thing that we wish was not a part of our histories.

(Like the time I pooped my pants in first grade because I wanted to be line leader so bad, I didn't go when we took a bathroom break, opting instead to walk right back out and claim the first in line spot.)

Wow - I feel better!  Confession really is good for the soul!  Take that, Smoking Gun!

Will Bo's drug revelation impact voters next week?  Who knows.  Scott was outed as an anger management graduate and looks like a serial killer, but somehow he made the Top Three this week.  Hmmm, maybe Paula's not the one on drugs...maybe it's we voters?

Bogart seems to have his head on straight, so let's hope the drug arrests scared the poop into his pants too, and that he got his shit together.

Because I'd really love to see him first in line for the finals.

American Idol Results Recap - April 27 - You Can't "Con" The Voters

I swear, I leave you people alone for 24 hours and look what happens - another Idol scandal on the front pages.

Honestly, headlines about the folks connected with American Idol are more regular than my Milk of Magnesia swilling Grandmother - and both produce just as much crap.

Last week we got to weep along and feel Paula’s "incredible pain" as she spilled her guts to People magazine. The funny thing is, even after the big cover story they penned, we still have no explanation for her rather abstract behavior of late. Sure, she says, "no drugs", but come on, what other explanation would there be for last night’s freakfest of fashion? Personally, I’d have to be higher than a kite to look in a mirror, see my reflection wearing lime green pom poms on a leopard print top, complete with lime green accessories, and say, "Man, I look hot!"

But as of today, we are learning that a wacked out wardrobe is the least of poor Paula’s problems.

Apparently, ABC’s Primetime Live is gearing up to air an expose’ titled Fallen Idol, about Ms. Abdul, on May 4^th. Claiming they "will explore explosive claims about behind-the-scenes activities at American Idol", they now are facing down Paula’s attack dog lawyer, Marty Singler, who is threatening a lawsuit.

Dear, dear, sweet Paula - apparently second season booted contestant, Corey Clark, over whom she drooled repeatedly on camera, is shopping around a book detailing an affair he says he had with Ms. Thang.

Straight up, now tell me that she is not on THAT many judgment altering substances.

Refresher for those keeping score: Corey is the contestant who was kicked off* early in the season after it was revealed he was charged with misdemeanor assault and battery against his own sister. (*Not to be confused with Frenchie who was booted for having once posed for a porn website or Mario who left because P. Diddy called.)

Ah well, we shall have to wait for May 4^th or something sniffed out sooner by The Smoking Gun, but typically when a celebrity sics their attorney on someone, there is, at the very least, a kernel of truth involved.

But, onto the results show...

Ryan ominously reminds us that, "NOW, it gets really serious." Oh, ok! NOW, it gets serious. I guess we were all just dicking around with our cell phones all this time.

Graphics, elevator, manbot...

Ryan takes the stage dressed for success in a white shirt and black suit - it really must be SERIOUS. He then greets the Idols who are now assembled on the longest couch in the history of furniture. Yes, folks, a single davenport of doom.

Since we only were being subjected to a 30 minute series of advertisements tonight, Ryan launches right into a video recap of last night’s performances. I stand by my critiques: Carrie has a voice, but unfortunately has no soul, Bo has the kind of hair I have always dreamed of, Vonzelle is gorgeous, but cannot move in high heels, Anthony is definitely channeling Clay Aiken and moving quietly to the head of the pack, Constantine should be wearing a neckbrace after last night’s head swirling performance dismount, and Scott needs to wave his hand only one more time - to say goodbye.

After the Fox bank vault is further stuffed with ad money, we come back to see Ryan hanging over Pamela Anderson’s Grand Tetons. Yes, Ms Rocket Scientits, herself, is in the house and if you can believe this - I think she was actually embarrassed by Ryan’s classless comment about his "view from the top."

For no apparent reason, other than the show has to suck up 20 more minutes of our evening, the kids take the stage to sing a very unemotional version of the Bee Gees tune "Emotion". "Cry me a river" that leads to some earplugs, please. When Scott took his solo to dizzying new heights of falsetto-land, I swear there were cats in my back alley with picket signs. And Conny never looked lovelier, bathed in pink lights and a shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Bo, however, was having a bad hair day - his flowing mane looked flat and lifeless - probably too much conditioner?

Thank God - song over - and we are saved by commercials.

After. The. Break. We are launched right into another date with the devil. The Ford commercial this evening was actually kind of cute - even my kids TiVo’d it back twice to watch Anthony emerge from the backgrounds as a ginormous refrigerator magnet, wallpaperflower, lamp and shrub. The other kids just chased the R/C car from room to room, but Anthony got to have all the fun. Kudos to the producers and make-up people - it was the most bearable exploitation of these kids to date.

Even Clay Aiken was yukking it up. Yes, Clay was back in the house again tonight - smirking over the fact that he has been able to perform an Idol exorcism and now has some control over his life again. To hell with priests - when you have sold your soul to the devil, what you need is a good lawyer.

Ryan tells us that the Red Cross Charity CD is currently #1 on the Billboard Singles Chart, indicating that we all are truly mindless lemmings. Show us something with the AI logo and we’ll walk right off a cliff to grab it. He also reminds us that our summer will only be perfect if we can get our hands on tickets for the American Idol tour. I don’t know Ryan - my bowels get irritable just watching Conny and Scott on TV - I think I would lose all sphincter control if I were in the same room with Laurel and Hardy.

Now it’s time for the results...Ryan informs us that the contestant leaving us tonight has garnered over 35 million votes this season. Respectable numbers.  He then announces he will once again use the Celine Dion-Near-Far-Wherever-You-Are method of expulsion. First up, Baby V, please go to the far side of the stage. Carrie, you stay near Ryan. Bo, who again really let his hair go tonight, stays near with Carrie. Anthony, please meet your party at Gate Far.

Left sitting on the noloveseat are Constantine and Scott, who will learn their groupage in approximately 3 million dollars or...

AFTER. THE. BREAK.

After the break we see Constantine and Scott flanking Ryan, who then asks them to choose the group they believe they belong with tonight. Cocky, thy name is Conny, who immediately heads for Carrie-Bo land, only to be followed by a belligerently confident Scott.

Of course, everyone (even Scott, who begins to inch his way more towards center stage) knows this set up is wrong.

Ryan tells us that, duh, Carrie and Bo are the TOP GROUP. And that - jeez, I was glad I was sitting down - CONSTANTINE is in the other group! Yes, in an upset no one saw coming, America voted Scott into the Top Three, and finally kicked I-Con’t-Believe-It Maroulis to the bottom.

SCOTT! TOP THREE! Can you say Nikki McKibbon? Josh Gracin? Jasmine Trias?

I’ll pause to let you collect yourselves.

I was not quite as surprised as most people at this point, as Anwar’s votes had to go somewhere, and his fans just weren’t the smarmy, camera kicking, tongue waggling type. I don’t think they were the Frito-Bean-Dip-Exconvict type either, so the votes were not going to Scott. Rather, I think Anthony and Vonzelle are seeing the windfall of Anwar’s demise.

After one last Hoovering of the advertiser’s wallets, Ryan quickly dispatches Vonzelle back to Sofa Safety, leaving Anthony and Conny bathed in sweat. Anthony now had on his glasses, all the better to see the approach of the Grim Reaper, I suppose - he just KNEW it was him going home.

Ryan drew out the final words Constantine. You. Are. Going. Home.

I think he may have said something else after that, but my daughters were screaming so long and loud with joy that even my neighbors’ ears are still ringing.

I honestly don’t think I have ever seen someone so completely blindsided in my life. Con’t-You-See-How-Wonderful-I-Am looked like he had been run over by an 18 wheeler. He thought he had this whole thing in the bag, and it turns out America bagged him first.

I take that back, Paula was perhaps more shocked than Conny. With tears pouring down her rapidly melting face, she managed to babble, "I can’t even speak.", to which I managed to squeak out, "There is a God after all."

As we watched him watch his farewell video, I almost felt sorry for him - little butt chin all a quiver. Then they showed snippets of his performances, and I was quickly reminded of every reason I have been so skeeved out by him from Day One. There was no humility, no overpowering amount of talent and that Constant leering at the camera. ICK.

He pulled it together and started singing for everyone, and then the camera caught Paula consoling Conny’s Mom. I’m not an expert lip reader, but I swear I could make out, "Don’t worry Mrs. Maroulis, I’ll have an affair with him too."

Things are heating up America - what will YOU do next week? Stay tuned!

American Idol Recap - Tuesday, April 26 - The Show With No Theme

Welcome to American Idol - brought to you tonight by the number "6" and the color GREEN.

With a quick welcome to the "pressure zone" by Ryan - dressed in a brown jacket and hideous GREEN shirt, we move right into lights, graphics, action!

The mandroid boards the elevator pod on the Starship Enterprise and is taken up to the Holideck, where he emerges to live out his fantasies of fame and fortune. (Bear with me, I'm running out of ways to describe that thrilling ascent.)

Excitement abounds and as the show opens, one of the biggest clues that we are nearing the homestretch is evident: Celebrities now litter the audience, Heather Locklear here, the guy from Sex and The City there...

Ryan starts things off by completely ripping poor Anwar a new one - picking on his glory notes, his tight trousers, his unbuttoned shirts. I have news for Mr. Seacrest - people in glass closets shouldn’t throw ridiculously expensive t-shirts.

Onto the theme of the night - or actually the nontheme. After asking the kids where they were for Y2K and listening to Anthony slaughter the Las Vegas slogan with "What goes on in Pennsylvania, stays in Pennsylvania", we all learn that the Idols Idea faucet has run dry and they can just pick whatever song they want from 2000 to now.

Yippee.

But wait - to make up for their lack of originality in tonight’s theme, the producers are taking us to each contestant’s hometown.

Y2K now stands for You’ve got 2 be Kidding.

Drawing the short straw tonight is Carrie-i-e-i-o Underwood! We board our imaginary tractor for a trip to Checotah, Oklahoma, a town so small that even the winds don’t come sweeping down the plains. We are treated to pastoral scenes of Carrie feeding cows, fishing and playing with varmints. Her Mom tears up when describing her "good little girl" as someone who likes animals more than people. Um, like we couldn’t tell that already by the permanent blank stare when she sings to us.

Singing, what else?, a country song - When God Fearin' WOmen Get The Blues- Carrie dressed the part in black cowgirl shirt with gold braid trim, jeans, boots and an awful purty belt. Unfortunately, no one in the audience must like country because it was deader than a Sunday supper possum in there. She managed to get them on their feet towards the end and, in a rare show of personality, Carrie actually bounced up and down at the end of her song. The judges were not too impressed, Randy said she was pitchy, Paula, decked out in leopard print trimmed with GREEN pompoms ("I am not on drugs America!") babbled incoherently, and Simon nailed it - the people voting are HeeHaw lovers - she’ll stay in.

Going to commercial we get a sneak peek at Jesus - dressed tonight in a costume from his JC Superstar days.

Back from the commercial, and look who’s stopped by! Clay Aiken, nattily dressed in a GREEN sweater. I don’t care what any of you say - he may not smolder like Conny or vamp like Bo, but he can sing circles around any of the kids on the stage this season.

Singing next is ... wait ... that’s not Jesus behind those Foster Grants! It’s Bo-My-Grandma-Made-This-Shirt-Out-Of-Old-Napkins Bice, taking us on a trip back to Helena, Alabama, a tiny hamlet that makes Carrie’s hometown look like LA. We get to meet Bo’s parents, his house (looks suspiciously like upgraded double wide), his girlfriend - a plain Jane named Caroline. I have just have to stop and ask if anyone else was surprised that she looks so ... normal? I expected something a little less Piggly Wiggly cashier and a little more granola, I guess.

Anyway, back in the studio, Bo rocks us out to I Don’t Wanna Be, while continually swinging the mike stand to and fro in an attempt to kill the two large, white caterpillars crawling up his thighs. What can I say - Bo was Bo - he reeks of confidence, attitude and probably Pachouli.

Next up, Ryan (who was giving an audience member a lap dance) introduces The Vonz - although I totally prefer her family nickname of Baby V. Our imaginary journey takes us to Ft. Meyers, Florida where we get to help V deliver the mail. We are then reminded that regardless of how much her beauty knocks us out, she could easily kick our collective asses into next week if provoked. She is a karate kid from way back. Wax on, wax off grashoppa.

On the stage, looking as lovely as ever, she takes on Christina Aguilara’s Turn to You. Personally, I agree with Simon, it did not sound great - but everyone else seemed to love it. What I would love is to see her stop wearing 4 inch heels when she sings and put on some footwear she can move in. It is always obvious her mind is at least half on trying to stay upright.

Surefire, soft spot vote-getter: Saying "Daddy, I Love You." at the end of the song.

Back from another commercial, we get to actually talk to Heather Locklear and her daughter Ava - who is a big Anthony supporter. (Did anyone notice that sitting behind and to the side was Carrie Bradshaw’s gay buddy from Sex & The City, wearing a GREEN striped shirt?) Lucky for little Ava, Anthony is up next! What timing! We board our time machine and travel back to Trevose, Pa where we meet Anthony’s heavily accented parents. They treat us to a rare recording of Anthony singing when he was 3 - in a different language no less. They teared up - it must have been a love song.

Despite not understanding much of what they said, it was obvious they are terribly proud of their Americanized son, his Mom calling him, "not a dreamer, but a dream maker." Awwww.

Her little dream maker chose to tackle a Celine Dion song this evening - in honor of Anwar, who was no longer there to sing female recordings. While the GREEN spotlights danced in his hair, he emoted through "I Surrender", never surrendering a single note. Anthony done good tonight.

Ava says vote for him, so we will.

We’re now in for a big treat my friends - Constantly-Checking-My-Look-In-The-Mirror Maroulis is taking us home to Brooklyn to meet Mom! Conny hails from a typical, loud, closeknit Greek family, and they loved rolling out the photo album to brag on their little Baklava. I especially loved the pic of Conman in his GREEN cap and gown. He has a nice family and may I just say, his brother has cheekbones that could cut glass.

Singing "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback, you know the one that asks the question "Are we havin' fun yet?" - I was left with one answer - NO, we are not. It was vampy, effected, and really low on actual singing. He did, however, kick at the camera twice, get lost in hair once and ended his performance with a head spin dismount that had a difficulty of 9.7.

Bringing up the rear tonight - and oh what a rear he has - is Scotty "The Body" Savol. (I swear, that has got to rival The Vonz for poorly executed nicknames.) Visiting his hometwon of Shaker Heights, OH - we see he comes by "The Body" honestly. Largesse seems to run in the family. We meet Mom and Dad Savol, who thought at one point, that Scott might become a priest. Then he went and threw a phone at the admissions officer at the seminary and well, the rest is Idol history. The Lord does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t he? Scott waxes on about how he represents the Average Joes - stating that "There’s a million of me walking around Cleveland."

Shhh, hear that? That’s the sound of Cleveland’s tourism industry shriveling up and dying.

His Mom ends the visit by saying Scott represents the "heart and soul of America". Now there, I agree. With over 60% of Americans being obese - Scott truly is one of us.

I liked his choice of song - Luther Vandross’ "Dance With My Father", although it did not allow him to reach for any big notes. No matter, he looked dapper with a suit jacket and GREEN spotlight illuminating his chubby cheeks. I think he acquitted himself just fine, but have to agree with Simon - he just might need to pack his suitcase tonight.

Note to Simon: Watch your back. Scott looked positively "Manson" after your remark.

What do you think? Was Carrie’s Country a Crock? Will Bo get the big contract with Alberto VO5? Will Vonzelle fall off her shoes? Will voters export Anthony back to the Ukraine? Did Conny throw his neck out with that dismount? And will Scott come packing a TouchTone with Simon’s name on it? Tune in tomorrow for the Results Recap.

We've Come To The End Of The Toad...

Anyone who has ever heard of Nostradamus (or sat on an airplane next to a Jehovah's Witness) knows there are certain signs, predicted long ago, that signal the coming of the end of the world.

The strife in the Middle East, the Twin Towers, deadly floods, Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie breaking up...These things have all come to pass. 

It's enough to make a person clean out their 401K, quit their job, eat nothing but carbs - especially lots of cheesecake, have sex without a condom, spit into the wind, pull the mask on the 'ol Lone Ranger and maybe even mess around with Jim (again, without a condom). 

I mean, if the world is ending, to hell with rules and propriety, right?

Personally, I have always thought there was only one sure sign that the Apocalypse was nigh (although the whole Paris-Nicole thing does give me pause):

It will start raining frogs.

Big ones, little ones, tadpoles, bullfrogs, you name it - the clouds will begin dumping them warts and all.

Apparently, I did not read the fine print.

For if what is happening in Germany is any indicator, the end is near.  Only it's not whole frogs the citizens are dodging, but bits and pieces - and to me that's far more ominous (and just plain gross).

It seems the residents of Hamburg are bearing witness to an outbreak of exploding toads. 

I'll pause briefly while you reread that for clarity and laughs.

Ready to proceed? Good.

It's true.  Thousands of the creatures, behaving normally right up to nightfall - snapping flies, minding their own business, have been affected.  As the skies darken, they begin to balloon more than three times their normal size, until their straining frogskin can't take it anymore and KABLOOEY!  They croak and frog entrails go flying at high velocity in all directions.

One resident spoke of children and dogs being warned away, saying the force of the explosion is equivalent to hitting a rotten orange with a golfclub.

If that isn't enough to make you hop to the nearest church, I don't know what is.

Wildlife experts have been called in to survey the area, dubbed by townsfolk as The Pond of Death, and they have begin to formulate several theories.  Of course, being scientific people, no one has mentioned my theory of Armandlegeddon.

One leading environmental activist, Werner Smolnik, speculates a disease may be at play and warns, “We cannot exclude some possibility of humans being infected.”

Good night dear, please turn off the lights and - KABLAM! - would you mind removing my intestines from the chandelier before you come to bed?

Water samples have been taken, however, no bacteria or deadly pollution have been found.

Another theory has to do with a new breed of attacking crows.  Stop laughing and keep reading.

The crows have been seen attacking the toads and some believe the amphibians are swelling up as a defense mechanism that somehow gets out of control.  An internal atomic fart, if you will.

My favorite theory has to be this one:  They are actually committing suicide in an attempt to protect the toad community.  Kamikaze Croakers, as it were.  You gotta love a martyr.  Tis a frog, frog better thing I do - KERSPLAT!

Eerily, the frequency of crow attacks has gone down since the uptick in these Improvised Explosive Devices.  God help us if the insurgents in Iraq get wind of this...

Whatever the reason, the entrails continue to fly, unabated.  Sadly, many of the toads do not die upon detonation, some struggling for many minutes as they stare wildly about looking for their intestines and rib bits.

As for me, I'm sticking with my "the world is ending" theory and getting my affairs in order.

Wanna share some cheesecake?

Baloney On Wry

I always love to see examples of my hard earned tax dollars at work. 

Whether it is our fine military, a homeless shelter, highway construction, or a simple pothole being filled in, it does a body good to know Uncle Sam is putting the money to good use and getting results.

What I learned today is a perfect example, and you'll have to excuse me if I get a little weepy here...I'm damned proud...sniff, sniff, tear...to be an American.

Yes, it was reported today, that on April 4th, U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents, hard at work to keep drugs away from my children, and cheap gardeners away from my landscaping, bagged a big one.

Another 18 wheel burrito full of smothering Mexicans?  Bigger.  20,000 kilos of marijuana?  Ha - Cheech could smoke that down in ten seconds.  No, this was huge and I shudder to think of the ramifications had this contraband and its mule made it above the border. 

Our specially trained border guards detected and stopped...are you ready?...845 pounds of...are you sitting down?

BALOGNA.

Yes, that's right, Oscar Meyer will sleep easier tonight knowing this smoked meat no longer poses a threat to its bottom line. 

And frankly, we should all sleep easier knowing it won't be a threat to our own, er, bottom lines.  You think a moldy taquito and some refrieds wreak havoc on your intestinal fortitude?  Just try some unrefrigerated, unregulated pork.  You'll be in the bathroom so long you'll need to pack a lunch.

When discovered at a routine checkpoint, this baloney was attempting to be smuggled in by a man heading to a swap meet in New Mexico.  Not sure what tipped off the agents first - the fact that his luggage weighed nearly 1,000 pounds or that the patrol dogs were wearing napkins around their necks and holding up forks and knives.

No matter, it was found and that's what's important.  I mean, do you know how much black market baloney goes for?!?  He paid about $7 or $8 per roll and could have easily tripled his money. 

Whoa.

Had I known, the last time I was in Mexico, the profit potential, I would have crammed a couple in my panty hose and had my husband make like John Holmes and shove one down his pants.  We could have made, what?, like $75 bucks?

Aw, come on, that doesn't make me a Muenster. I have three kids to feed and when you're talking baloney, that's a lot of cheese.

Poor Martha - House Arrest Just Isn't A Good Thing

I'll admit it up front.  I have never been, nor ever plan to be, a Martha Stewart admirer.

When she first emerged onto the home decor scene, the smell of her arrogance - just as sickeningly sweet as any homemade potpourri - turned me off.  There was condescension in every word she spoke, unreality in every book she penned and a perceivable detachment from we "commoners".

Basically, I felt she was more full of shit than her farm at Turkey Hill.

Unfortunately, the passage of time has not proven to transform the compost within dear Martha.  She is still full of, and perhaps now, even overflowing with, shit.

Fresh from her stint at Camp Cupcake - she emerged from her prison cocoon, trim, smiling, hair freshly highlighted, and flew away into the night in her private jet. 

I hear the girls back at the pen partied hard that night, celebrating that they could finally stop folding the toilet paper corners under, that they would no longer have to listen to Madge bitch about the lack of wintersquash in her Wednesday night stew, and that they could fart and belch without rebuke again.

For her part, Martha tried to show she was "one of them" by wearing a homemade poncho as she left the prison.  Give me a break.  This is a woman who wears haute couture to feed her chickens - that poncho was pure photo op-PR spin, and I'm sure it got jettisoned at 20,000 feet.

The remainder of her sentence - 5 months - was to be served under house arrest at her suburban New York estate.  The rules were fairly simple: 1. wear a monitor ankle bracelet, 2. can leave home for up to 48 hours per week.  PERIOD.

Forgive me, but two months into her sentence, I still have to ask, what's the point of the word "arrest"?  Isn't it supposed to be a form of punishment?  A public penance for having done wrong? Believe me, I know a lot of people who would love to be punished in this fashion.  Consign my ass to house arrest instead of the eternal incarceration of the minivan, Walmart and PTA, and I would be happy indeed.

But even this is not good enough for Ms. Stewart.  Nay - earlier this month she had her lawyers petition the court to up her allowable hours away to 80, allow her to make overnight trips, and allow her to stop wearing her monitoring anklet. 

This pesky house arrest is apparently cramping her style and ruining her panty hose.

Even Omnimedia's chief executive, Susan Lyne, wrote to the judge that Stewart needs more time outside her home to work on two planned new television shows and to meet with big advertisers who yanked their business from the company's magazines during her legal travails.

Tell me, when the bunkmate who made Martha's poncho gets out of jail, will she be walking into two TV shows and a perverse community of celebrities, just waiting to make her a bigger star?  No, she won't.  If she's lucky, she may find a job working the lay-a way desk at Kmart, ringing up Martha Stewart curtains and toilet seat covers.  But that's a big "if" since ex-convicts aren't usually shifted to the top of the applicant pile in Human Resources, but rather the round file by the desk.

The judge in the case, who apparently cares more about the law than about Martha's current bedding line being in peril, denied the petition.

Unfortunately, Martha seems intent on denying the fact that she must play by the rules like everyone else, and is currently being investigated by her probation officers for possibly violating the terms of her sentence.

48 hours be damned!  That's apparently not enough for lunching at Tavern on the Green, shopping up 5th Avenue, and meeting with reality TV maverick, Mark Burnett - she still had to squeeze in a night of honors, as she was named one of the 100 Most Influential People by Time Magazine. 

Ah c'mon judge - P. Diddy was there...I had to go hang with my homies... 

The reality is that nothing much will come out of her violation because nothing much has gone into her punishment to begin with.  Before we know it, August will be here and Martha will be free to roam to her heart's content, even staying overnight with P. Diddy if she wishes.

Will she have learned anything from this legal and penal road she has walked?

I doubt it.

After all, her road has been paved in gold, her feet ensconsed in Gucci, and her future so bright she has to wear shades - designer, of course.

So let the rest of the world fall back in love with Martha, gasping as she turns out picture perfect souffles, gazing in wonder as she makes a nativity scene out of pinecones and gold leaf, and tuning in to watch her fire, a la Trump, someone new each week.  I'll save my admiration and kudos for the ladies who come out of prison, follow the rules and get their lives back on track through sheer hard work and conscience.

I just wish one of them had bitchslapped ol' Martha when they had the chance.

Now THAT would've been a good thing.

Crunked At The Keyboard

I do drugs.

All day, often several times an hour.

My husband does drugs.  Not as often as I, but someone around here has to keep it together enough to work and pay for my fix.

I even allow my kids to do drugs, typically once a day, afterschool, to help them unwind.  I mean, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I denied them the pleasure I find in it?  I am a good Mom though, closely monitoring their intake.

The funny thing is, until today, I never really considered my addiction to be unhealthy or wrong in any way.  I mean how could something that makes me feel so good, be bad for me?

Well, my eyes have now been opened and since they say admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery, here goes, "Hi. My name is Linda and I'm an Emailaholic."

Wow, I feel better already.

How did I come to the realization that my drug use was harmful?  With the help of another groundbreaking study, of course.  This one undertaken by Dr. Glenn Wilson of King's College London University, commissioned by Hewlitt-Packard.

By studying 1,100 office workers as they went through their days juggling work, meetings and email, it has been determined that Mary Jane loses more IQ points when exposed to keyboard burnout than she would by sparking up a doobie on her break.

The average IQ drop measured 10 points for bonging - er sorry, banging the keys vs. only 4 points lost when passing the ganja.

That really opened my eyes.  No wonder I constantly feel foggy.  When it comes to email and computer time, I make Cheech & Chong look like a Nicorette commercial.  And if I manage to Instant Message, Email and talk to a person in the same room with me all at once? 

Whoa dude - reefer madness.

I realize this study was meant to be taken seriously, but since I'm obviously stoned right now (I've been on here for hours already), I think it's rather funny. 

The results apparently point to a serious problem stemming from chronic message checking and multitasking.  According to Dr. Wilson, "This is a very real and widespread phenomenon. We have found that this obsession with looking at messages, if unchecked, will damage a worker's performance by reducing their mental sharpness.  He went on to add, "Companies should encourage a more balanced and appropriate way of working."

Well, it seems to me the answer is obvious.  Tear down those cubicle walls, get rid of the computers and replace them with four way Hookah pipes.  Your employees' IQs will climb back up by 6 points and the side benefit will be a happy, balanced and peaceful office atmosphere.

Teambuilding - a huge catchprase in the workworld - could be accomplished with one big toke rolling session.  And what about when you have to weed out bad workers?  Just think how mellow a newly fired employee would be.  Give them a quarter bag and some rolling papers with their walking papers and they are far less likely to storm back in guns blazing, right?

I know, I know, there are those pesky laws to get around, but can't the government see that the real danger in the war on drugs is Pentium, not Cannabis, based?  I mean, come on, the folks at IBM get you hooked and you just need more and more.  More speed, more memory, more programs.  It's damn near impossible to keep up with and besides, do you know how hard it is to find a roach clip big enough for my mouse?  Do you???  Hee, hee, hee...

Sorry, I just checked my email again and I have a case of the gigglebytes.

Now you'll have to excuse me.  I would certainly love to hash this out further with you, but having been on here all day, I'm feeling pretty fried and I have a really bad case of the munchies.

(My thanks to the folks at MarijuanaDictionary.com, with their help, writing this piece was a total blast.  Without them I would have burned out by the 2nd paragraph.)

Are Ya Ready, Gals?

The news today was alot to absorb.

For some, it caused them to suck in their breath.

Others had to squeeze themselves to make sure they weren't dreaming.

In time, however, the reality will soak in, the wringing of hands will cease and women across the USA will wipe away tears of joy.

For today the FDA approved and announced, the Today Sponge is coming back to a drugstore or Walmart near you.

OK, so it's not anything earthshattering, like a cure for spastic colon, but for the countless women who fell in love with and relied upon this product as their favorite form of birth control back in the 80's and early 90's, this is HUGE.

For the uneducated, the Today Sponge is just that, a round sponge with an elastic strap, saturated with spermicide, which when inserted into the vagina correctly, covers the cervix.

Women fell in love with it immediately for several reasons: 1. You could insert it hours prior to intercourse, so it did not disrupt any mojo in progress.  2. Once inserted, it is felt by neither the "home owner" or "visiting guests".  3. Provided fairly effective - though not quite as high a percentage as The Pill - birth control with no side effects.

The manufacturer sold nearly 250 million of them before it took them off the market, not because of any defects or complaints, but because they chose not to make an upgrade to the factory.

THAT'S when the complaints began.  The ensuing rush to find any remaining Sponges on store shelves and horde them even became the basis for a Seinfeld episode where Elaine manages to score the last case at her drugstore.  She then coins the term "spongeworthy" - a rationing term used to define whether or not a man was worth her breaking into the case for.

Shock - Few were.

I, myself, tried the little buggers back in the day.  Actually, scratch the word "little", as they are about 2-3 inches across and about an inch thick.  Inserting a slippery object into a - er - um...slippery object is not as easy feat.  And while having it feel just like the rest of you is an appreciable attribute during the deed, I found it to be a detriment when trying to both situate and remove.

That elastic strap for easy removal?  HA!  The day I gave up on the Sponge, I had spent nearly an hour attempting to locate the damned thing.  And by locate I mean, just imagine turning yourself into a human hand puppet.  I found my ovaries, my tonsils, some earwax - everything but The Sponge.  I swear I was ready to send in a SWAT team.

I finally did retrieve the thing, threw away the remaining ones, and wrote a note to Kermit and the rest of the Muppets, telling them how much I appreciated what they went through each day to bring joy.

So while I am not one of the elated ladies who will be storming the Walgreens of the land, I know they and the manufacturer will be very happy together.  Maybe they have even improved upon the design and it comes with a homing device or GPS locator.

And even though I will not be a customer, I understand the value and would like to help Allendale Pharmaceuticals with their ad campaign.

So here's my proposed advertising jingle.  And if they could just manage to sign Mr. Squarepants as their spokesperson...the possibilities are endless.

Are ya ready gals?

Ohhhhhhhh, who lives in my vagina and covers my "C"?

The Sponge, it's back!

Absorbent to suck up the semen, oh gee!

The Sponge! It's back!

If pro-tected sex bein' something you wish

The Sponge! It's back!

Then shove in a sponge, it's so easy to squish!

The Sponge! It's back!

The Sponge, it's back! The Sponge, it's back!
The Spongggggggggggggggge, it's baaaaaaaaack!