Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Deadly Bored Game

Summer break is here throughout the states and those two words every parent dreads have already begun to be uttered by their children, recently freed from the confines of academia: I’m bored.

Poor things. Faced with all those normally filled hours, suddenly stripped of their routine and left to fend for themselves. They are faced with an empty void (known to you and me as DAY) and no clear ideas as to how it will be filled.

Now your run-of-the-mill, unimaginative, mentally stable child will happily opt for endless hours splashing in the pool, perfecting their skills at Gamecube, or even a part-time job.

Then there are those creative, abstract, impulsive souls, like Christopher Scamahorn, 14, and Jeffery Spurgeon, 18, of Florida, who get their kicks wherever they can find them.

Scratch that, they actually deliver their kicks.

These two members of the teen braintrust, both stellar examples of involved parenting, have confessed to brutally beating a homeless man to death ..are you ready?...“to have something to do.”

That’s right. They were bored.

They discovered the homeless man in the woods last week, and proceeded to beat him with sticks and fists, brutally kicking him into unconsciousness. As if that were not horrifying enough, they went back three times over the course of the following days and continued the beatings until the man was dead.

Let me repeat that: They went back three times...and continued the beatings.

The 53 year old man died of “blunt force trauma”.

The cherry on top of this story? Police say more arrests are forthcoming, meaning these two were not the only teens who took turns playing pinata with a human being.

I mentioned parenting, or a serious lack thereof, up above, and I want to know; How are children being raised today that this kind of aberrant thought process even exists in their heads? How does a child graduate from Saturday morning cartoons to slaying for sport?  Where is the supervision? The caring? The involved parental figures?

Like the Columbine shootings, while I do not hold the parents of Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris completely responsible for the carnage - those boys knew right from wrong and willfully pulled the triggers - I also do not absolve them of all guilt. Their children were unsupervised, unquestioned, unaccounted for, far too many hours of every day.

In the case of these Florida boys, I watched as Spurgeon’s mother, a stereotype straight out of a Jerry Springer episode, wailed into the TV cameras that, “This is not something he would do.”  (Interesting sidenote: She phoned in the anonymous tip about the body being out there. Gee, how do you think she got that info?)  However, when pressed with the question of whether she knew what he does during the day, she could only hang her peroxide blonde head.

What’s that Mom? We can’t hear you? Could it be YOU. DON’T. KNOW.

Fine, he is 18 years old, an age he should have reached with enough maturity and responsibility instilled that Mom can actually look the other way occasionally and trust him, but what about 14 year old Christopher? First of all, why the hell is he hanging out with an 18 year old? Second, where are his parent(s) who should be completely on top of his whereabouts, activities and friends?

I do not want to hear about both parents working. I don’t care if you are the sole provider, working four jobs, 25 hours a day - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR CHILDREN. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR HOW THEY FILL THEIR HOURS.

I do not want to hear how these are just boys who made a mistake. A mistake is forgetting an appointment, spilling milk, jaywalking. Brutally killing someone for fun is not a mistake, it is murder.

And I do not want to hear how they are “covering for their friends”, words from Mama Spurgeon.

News Flash Mom: They are not POWs in Vietnam. (Although you all are Pieces Of Work.) There is nothing noble in their confessions. Bottom line: They are ignorant, irresponsible, uncaring, unfeeling human beings who have proven they contribute little more than carbon dioxide to this planet.

And they are a direct result of YOUR parenting skills throughout the years. You reap what you sow. And in this case you sowed too much freedom, too little accountability and not a drop of respect for human life.  Well, maybe their own - I have a feeling they will begin to value their own necks quite a bit as the legal noose begins to tighten.

But hey boys, there's always a bright side...life looks to be very interesting for you both now.  And should you begin to get bored in prison?  Just bend over for the soap. That'll perk things up everytime.

Happy Birthday(suit) To You

Like most 16 year old boys, all Annette Pharris’s son really wanted for his birthday was a car.

What he got was a pair of headlights.

Yes, you see, when faced with the dilemma of just how to make her son’s 16th birthday really special, Annette decided that balloons and a cake were far too pedestrian. And obviously, he was much too old for a trip to Chuck E Cheese. So in yet another fine example of parenting, Annette decided on both cheese and cake to make the party a hit.

She hired a stripper.

With about ten boys, all under the age of 18, in attendance, of course it was a hit. And I imagine her son was, in his peers’ eyes, King of the World. Unfortunately, soon after the party, the TITantic began to take on water.

Annette Einstein took the film from the party, wonderful shots of said near naked stripper undulating and dry humping in the Puberty Sea , to her neighborhood drugstore to be developed.

What a good Mom. Those are the Kodak moments too special to forget. Look dear, Johnny’s first lap dance!

Unfortunately for Annette, the film developers were less than impressed with her memories and parenting skills, and turned the film over to the police. She has now been indicted by a Grand Jury on charges of contributing to the delinquency of a minor(s) and involving a minor(s) in obscene acts.

Her defense? “I tried to do something special for my son,” Pharris said, “It didn’t harm him.”

Police don’t take her liberal view. According to police spokesman Don Aaron, ''A person shouldn't be allowed to circumvent the law by hiring a stripper, a lady who took all her clothes off and spent a good amount of time dancing around minors.''

Annette's retort?  “Who are they to tell me what I can and can’t show my own children?”

Is she really this stupid? Rhetorical question - don’t answer it.

Of course she is. She doesn’t even understand that it would have been criminal if she had hired the stripper for a solo session with her son behind the closed doors of her home. Why should we expect her to be able to multiply the level of wrongdoing by the number of children who were not her own, in attendance?

I am constantly amazed at the incredible level of stupidity, rampant neglect and over-indulgence at work in today’s parenting strata.

Parents who look the other way at rotten behavior is bad enough, not to mention the ones who play Russian Roulette with their children’s lives, dropping them off at the Mall or amusement park, unsupervised, naively thinking nothing bad can happen. You know the ones. They are routinely found on CNN crying into the camera when Johnny or Janie kills someone over a baloney sandwich or comes up missing after riding their bike through a construction site alone.

Then there are the ones like Annette who believe they can buy their child’s affections. The parents who cough up the cash for new cars when the kid gets their learner’s permits, the parents who throw $20,000 parties to try to make their child more popular, and the parents who buy the kegs for the kids to party with after the Homecoming game.

Kids need responsibility, not really hot cars. Kids need unconditional love, not unrestricted Internet access. Kids need consequences for their actions, not absolution without reproach. And they certainly don’t need Mommy buying a naked woman for them when they turn 16.

I will agree with Annette. I doubt anyone was hurt. Maybe someone sprained an eyeball or got a hand cramp in her bathroom, but nothing life threatening.

But the bottom line is this: She not only overstepped her bounds with all those kids, she broke the law. And even if she doesn’t hold her son accountable for his actions, society will hold her accountable for hers.

So parents, teach your kids when they are little: Don‘t do the crime, if you can’t do the time(out). 

I can’t promise they won’t still be clamoring for a car when they turn 16 - kids will be kids - but maybe with some proper guidance, they won’t be willing to settle for just the headlights either. 

Hey! Weight For Me!

It never fails - place a woman in what is typically, generationally, or irrationally believed to be a man’s domain and before you can say “penis”, the men begin to protest as loudly as a female at a Size 6 Only Shoe Sale.

Whether it's corporate America, combat in the Middle East or high level politics, there are still far too many three legged creatures out there who believe women to be the “weaker sex”, incapable of financial prowess, true grit, or important decision making.

Yeah, like we could screw up the world anymore than it already is.

Even a cursory drive through the history books will tell you that the world did not arrive at its present day, screwed up, pockmarked, dysfunctional, battle scarred, paranoid, disease ridden, riding on fumes self, at the hands of women.

We simple weren’t allowed at the wheel.

Slowly, however, more and more women have been sliding into the driver’s seat and mapping out their own successes, creating paved inroads for others to follow, where there used to be only dirt.

Today’s object lesson is Danica Patrick, the 23 year old female racing phenom, who is starting in 4th position at this afternoon's Indy 500, racing for the Rahal-Letterman (yes, as in David) team. She is traveling a road which only three other women have tread upon before.

Ever since 1977 when Janet Guthrie dared to hit the Brickyard, qualify for the race, and post a 29th place finish, good and bad ol’ boys alike have grumbled that “this is a man’s race”, “it’s too dangerous for women” and my all-time favorite “women can’t drive”.

May I just pause to inject, while I freely admit that 99.9% of the folks you see applying mascara while cruising through rush hour, are women, according to a 1999 National Safety Council (NSC) study, 72% of the vehicle fatalities, were caused by male drivers.

Maybe more men should wear mascara?

But I digress...

Danica Patrick, pardon the pun, has an excellent track record, having earned her way into the Indy 500 the same way her fellow racers have - through dedication, determination and talent on the track. With a record that includes being the only female to have earned a pole position and podium finish in Toyota Atlantic, a 2002 first place finish in the Long Beach Grand Prix (from the pole position no less) and 10 top five finishes in 2004 alone, Danica has a beefy resume that belies her diminutive stature.

Unfortunately, it is her diminutive female stature that some of her opponents have a beef with.

Weighing in at a slight 100 pounds, Danica is not exactly built like the brickyard, or the men, around her. And so, her female status is being held against her.

Racer Robby Gordon, by his own admission, easily twice as heavy as Danica, is crying foul because as a woman, her weight gives her a built in advantage on the track. "The lighter the car, the faster it goes," Gordon said, "do the math. I won't race against her until the IRL does something to take that advantage away."

The rest of his words were muffled as he was stuffing another handful of Fritos and bean dip into his mouth.

I will give him this: all Indy cars must weigh in, without gas and driver, at 1,525 pounds, minimum. However, the ass size that follows is up to the racing team.

Does her 100 pound difference truly make her a more formidable foe? Sure, when on the track alone, she can conceivably clock an extra 1 mph faster than someone like Gordon, but as anyone who has ever watched these races can attest, when the track is cluttered with 32 other cars, averaging 160 mph, driving prowess, not breakneck speed, is the key.

Gordon is not the only racer voicing his male vs female complaints. Pole sitter Tony Kanaan, weighing in at 145 pounds, “would like the IRL to look into the issue.”

Psst, Tony, you may want to rethink that comment. Gordon obviously hasn’t noticed your 60 pound advantage yet.

I have news for Gordon and all those Y bearers who think Patrick’s feminine status is an unfair advantage. It is. It certainly is unfair that she has the willpower to keep her 5’2” frame that fit and fine while you wash down another bucket of Hooter’s wings with a case of Coors.

Just like horse racing, smaller, slighter jockies have a built in advantage. The less the horse has to carry, the faster it can trot around the track. That mindset should carry over to horsepower too, but for some reason it does not. Perhaps, in a profession where the "bucket" - the container the driver sits within - is snug for even a slightly overweight sardine, perhaps Robby should rethink either his line of work or his diet?

And oddly, in all the years Emerson Fittipaldi, the Oompa Loompa of Indy drivers, was racing (and winning), I never once heard the beefy Mario Andretti or the Fabio-like Arie Luyendyk, whine about Emerson's smaller waistband and inseam.

But Danica Patrick has boobs and is a babe, so she’s cheating.

Ah well, time will tell, and by this afternoon we will all know the results. The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding.

Just be sure to look before Robby Gordon eats it.

Will Viagra & Cialis Users Stiffen Over New Findings?

Mother Always Warned You...

One of the more absurd adMOMitions throughout history has to be the one where sons are warned, by their uptight, puritanical or just plain skeeved out mothers, of the link between masturbation and eyesight.

Keep doing that Johnny and you’ll go blind!

Not to mention get callouses!

Well, astoundingly it is beginning to look like ol’ Mom just might have been closer to the truth than she thought.

No, not the callouses part, if you don’t know to use lotion by now, that’s your problem.

A new study by federal officials is yielding disturbing evidence that those punchline ready wonder drugs, Viagra and Cialis, may be directly responsible for 42 cases of non-arteritic anterior ischemic optic neuropathy - NAION - or as laymen would call it - blindness.

Yes, that’s right - they can get it up, but can no longer see where to put it.

According to FDA spokewoman, Susan Cruzan, "We take this seriously."

Well, Susan, I would hope so. The thought of a bunch of excited old farts, stumbling around, playing a pornographic game of Pin The Tail On The Donkey is more than a little disturbing.

Of course, both Eli Lilly and Pfizer, manufacturers of the little blue pills are quick to defend their products by noting that NAION (and callouses), can occur in men who are diabetic or have heart disease, the very same conditions that can cause impotence and thus lead to Viagra use.

Kind of like the whole chicken-egg-first? game, only the chicken is a rooster and he doesn’t care who came first as long as he came, period.

Both drug companies are now in talks with the FDA regarding the addition of a warning regarding blindness to their packaging.

Yeah, that’ll work.

The drugs, approved to treat erectile dysfunction, already contain warnings that they should not be used by men with heart conditions whose doctors have warned them not to have sex. Also, that patients taking drugs that contain nitrates should not take the drugs because of sudden, unsafe drops in blood pressure.

The labels and their corresponding commericals also warn of erections lasting longer than four hours (one plus is that coupled with blindness, they have a built in walking cane), painful erections lasting longer than six hours (how do they treat this in the ER? In shifts?), headache, flushed skin and vision problems.

I daresay you could add a warning that in rare cases, use of the drugs cause the penis to shrivel up like a raisin in the sun or spontaneously combust, and sales would do nothing but grower stronger.

We’re talking about men and sex here.

Even with the current warnings, the whole Pills To Pump Up Your Penis industry rakes in over $2 BILLION annually. And with the drugs available everywhere but in the back of Archie comicbooks, I even doubt that the potential for instant death upon orgasm would make that bottom line droop.

Will there be a positive outcum from this new information? Will men learn anything from the suffering of their peers? Will they think twice before ordering cyberections from Canada online?

I doubt it. After all, they never did listen to their mothers.

Excuse me now, I’m going to go buy stock in Jergens and walking canes.

American Idol Finale Results Show Recap, Wednesday May 25th: Voters Carrie Her All The Way To The Title

Dearly beloved, we are gathered together this evening to bid farewell to another season of American Idol.

AI4 was a good season, a fine season filled with hope and dreams. A season which was not afraid to admit, YES Lord, my faults are many, but my purpose is always true.

AI4 made us laugh, it made us cry, it made us throw things at the TV set. Yet, in the end, even with it’s inevitable passing, we are all richer (well, at least the producers are) for having been a part of it - and AI4 (along with collateral merchandising, concerts and CD sales) will live long past this sad day of goodbyes.

Let us read from Psalm 23, The Book of Idols: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Paula’s cleavage, I shall fear no silicone; for thou Wonderbra and happy pills art with me; thou Dawg and haughty British man comfort me. Thou preparest so many contestants before me, even in the presence of mine enemies: Constantine & Scott & Mikalah. Thou annointested my eyeballs with Bogart and Anthony, my wildest fantasy cup runnethed over. Surely Nadia and Nikko shall follow me all the days of my life, and they will all dwell in land of TiVo forever." Amen.

Coffee and cake will be served immediately following the burial of AI4.

Now, shall we get into our last recap?

(Editors Note: Thanks (seriously Coach Scott - THANK YOU) to an end of season soccer party, I was unable to begin watching this show until 830pm. That set me up to be able to speed through the $60 million in commercials and really BAD crap of the next two hours. And believe me, the American Idol sewer was ripe tonight...)

Ryan is shown briefly standing in a single spot, ready for his close-up in a black suit and black tie. (See? Even Ryan dressed for a funeral.) The house lights then go up to reveal the screaming banshees even louder than last night, filling the Kodak Theater.

Rising like a high colonic through the large intestine, the Idolvator ejects a fembot who continues on through a neon intestine, coming to rest on the precipice of the lower stomach where she is greeted with cheers and bile!

The show immediately opens with all the Idol finalists (sans Bo and Carrie who were seen in the wings downing shots of Cuervo over the fact they have to tour with these people all summer) churning out a medley of Beach Boys hits - churning, which is what my stomach started to do as they began to sing. They opened with "Fun, Fun, Fun" which they weren’t, weren’t, weren’t having. The boys looked about as uncomfortable as someone stuck in an elevator with Mikalah Gordon, who incidentally is recovering from a vicious go round with a weedwacker that tore through her hair. She looked like a Mystic tanned, Vegas hooker and sounded even worse. What a trainwreck she is.

Scott came forward to taunt all the cats in my neighborhood with his ear splitting falsetto on Barbara Ann - he was dressed like a Pokemon ball in a bright pink blazer. Cut to Lindsay Cardinale (again looking all pigshitty to be on TV again) and MikLAYah Gordon who cannot harmonize to save their lives (or my ears). They dueted on In My Room which is exactly where we all wanted to send them. Incidentally, was I the only one who could see right up Ms. FABulous’s skirt?

Thankfully Vonzelle came along, looking gorgeous as ever, teaming up for some harmony with Nadia Turner whose hair went to new heights, but whose cleavage went to new lows. Anthony then took over with Surfer Girl, did well, only to be joined by a hatless Nikko Smith - both of these boys have never even seen a surfboard, much less a girl who would ride one.

It was at that point that my TV screen went all greasy as Constantine oozed into "I Get Around" - have truer words ever been sung on any stage? God help me - his face even ate the camera again. I hope the crew gets combat pay. Jessica Sierra slid through every now and then, which is easy to do when dressed as a banana peel. And did you all catch Anwar Kravitz in the background?

They wrapped things up with Good Vibrations, at which point the crowd went wild - BECAUSE IT WAS OVER.

Ryan comes out to talk about the two people waiting in the wings (doing shots) and about the musical guests that will be on the stage later in Idolpalooza. Lynyrd Synyrd, George Benson, Baby Face, Rascal Flatts (feel free to have gone Who? at some point in that list).

I found myself desperately wanting a commercial break already, but it was not to be, No, instead we got to see a montage of Mikalah molesting celebrities as they arrived earlier on the red carpet. Honestly, when Kirstie Alley backs away from a person, you know it’s bad. Gag, gag, gag.

Next we moved onto yet another video recap of the Story of American Idol 2005. Shots of hopefuls filling stadiums in DC, St. Louis, New Orleans, Vegas, the Great Lakes region, San Francisco and Orlando. We are reminded that they let 193 people wing their way to Hollywood by way of a Willy Wonka golden ticket they found in Paula’s cleavage. From 193, a million tears wash the number down to 44 who get to take the Magic Elevator to the scary banquet room where they were either told "You suck, what were we thinking?" or "Ehh, we’ll let you live the dream a while longer.". That left 24 hopefuls to move on to the studio performances where we voted them down to the final 12, which was hyped as a big deal, but really isn’t considering numbers 11 and 12 don’t get to go on tour.

They then showed how the couch of doom shrunk until finally only Bo and Carrie were left to fart nervously into the cushions.

Thank GOD, there was finally a commercial break during which AI raked in roughly $7 million dollars.

We come back to see Bo, relaxed as ever (Tequila does give one a mellow drunk), and decked out in flip flops, jeans and shades. Of course he sits in front of a plasma screen TV that made every male in America go "Oooooooooooooooo". Ryan and Bo check it out as they talk to La Toya London who is in Bo’s homestate, but oddly decked out in the Miss Universe crown and one of Phyllis Diller’s old feather boas. Maybe Latoya’s been hitting the bottle too? Of course, Alabama is ready to pee its pants and they even declare Bo Bice Day.

As we come back to the dressing room, Ryan announces that Bo will be taking the stage to again sing Vehicle. Sorry - I watched enough to make sure Matilda was doing her part and then cruised straight through. We get it - he sings the song really well, but damn, it is not THAT great of a song that I need to hear it every freaking night.

Another commercial break - goodie! More minutes to TiVo through!

We are now in Carrie’s dressing room and she is as dressed up as Bo. Jeans and a plaid shirt? Her hair is doing the wave tonight, however, so at least a little fancy on top. We check in with Matt Rogers (season 3 finalist - big guy? Football player? There you go!) who has been sentenced to prison in Muskegee, Oklahoma with all of Carrie’s friends and barnyard animals. Over the screaming we get to see him hit on the First Lady of Oklahoma - classy.

Thankfully, we cut back to see Carrie who will again be singing Angels Brought Me Here - the song in which she finally grew a heart last night. She seemed much more relaxed tonight - must be the plaid shirt - come on - didn’t anyone tell these kids this was the final show? A camera shot to the crowd shows her Mom draped in floor length sequins and her sisters dressed for a 1980's prom, for God’s sake.

I fast forwarded through this one too. And straight through another $6 million in advertisements.

Next we are backstage in the judge’s dressing rooms: Highlights? Randy's white pimp shoes with the pink leather laces. He predicts Carrie as the winner. We are then subjected to his analysis of the whole Paula/Simon relationship complete with video of that hideous second season dream sequence where they swap enough spit to refloat the Titanic. They continued by showcasing Ms. Abdul’s numerous hissy fits - were they trying to make her look bad? If that’s possible?

We move into Paula’s dressing room now, where decked out in deep V necked purple, she talks of her love/hate relationship with Simon and compares him to "fungus - he grows on you". Yeah, it grows on shower thongs too, but you don’t see us french kissing our footwear Paula.

Another $6 million break only to return to the final Ford commercial of the AI season. With a music backdrop of a song called "Reach", they simply spliced together snippets from every soul stealing Ford commercial the kids have been flogged into making this season.

Now, into Simon’s dressing room where he is sporting more cleavage than Paula. He predicts Carrie will win (duh) and then suffers through a plasma screen visit with LaToya (whom he even questions as being drunk). Then some bratty kid with facepaint is stuck in front of the camera to use big words on Simon. If the kid had been in the same room, Simon would have kicked him. Basically Simon wasn’t having any - it was a painful segment in which LaToya London did herself no favors - as in, I highly doubt ET will be calling tomorrow for her services.

A quick cut to Matt Rogers lets us meet Grandpa Carl - Carrie’s oldest fan - and a piece of fur, presumably Carrie’s puppy - her #1 fan. News flash: Anyone who fills the water and food bowls is pretty much tops in a dog’s eyes.

Now we are dragged through a segment called "Emotions" which heralded the Top 3 emotional moments from the auditions.

3. Regina, who sold her wedding rings to get to the auditions - remember her? Cried all the time? Was going to shrivel up and die if she couldn’t sing? Was married to the skinniest redneck looking whiteboy in a John Deere cap? Ahhh, now you remember.

2. Mark - who threw his bulky body into a wall when he did not make the cut.

1. Ms. Clark - the woman who hyperventilated herself right to the floor - Woo! Woo! Woo! Woo! - when her son got a Golden Ticket. She probably dug her own grave and jumped in when he did not make the finals.

Bring on another commercial break - thank God and TiVO.

Ryan is now onstage introducing a clip of Leandra Jackson - remember her? Large woman, permanent bed head, could not sing to save her life? On the big screen she is shown singing the National Anthem (at least I think that’s what it was - the words were mostly wrong - maybe it was Ukraine’s National Anthem - we should ask Anthony). It was solid proof for me that even in the audition process, these kids sign a paper stating the devil now owns their souls. I was actually sitting there hating how humiliating it must be for poor Leandra, wherever she was watching from - until the screen split and out she walked to finish the anthem. I’ve seen livier looks from deer caught in headlights - and that last note? Was that even a note?

Dear God! What’s this? The intro is being shown again! And I thought I would never see that Barbie elevator again!

Ryan walks out like the show is just starting - get real. We are all stupid lemmings - we have been here all along Ryan.

He welcomes the judges who are now in their seats and then Bo and Carrie duet on "Up Where We Belong". It was not bad, I guess, but I was distracted by how great Bo looks in black leather pants, so I’m not really sure. I was brought back to reality when Carrie began her signature bounce. Someone get that girl to Arthur Murray. I started to listen and I swear it seemed like Bo’s mike was turned down to favor her vocals. He had his revenge though - They ended the song with her head on his shoulder, which quickly got lost in Bo’s hair. Smooth move, dude.

Ryan came out to greet them with the surprise of something in his pants. Something he had two of...KEYS! (Get your minds out of the gutter, save it for Googling naked pics of Anthony) Yes, the kids both got keys to brand new, shiny red Ford Mustangs! Zoom! Zoom!

I was getting bored at this point, so when they cued Donny and Marie singing little bit country/little bit rock 'n roll, I started to nod off.

We got taken back, yet again, through Bo and Carrie’s journeys to the Idol stage. Carrie first - all I can say is that her hair got better, but then stylists can do that for you. Then a montage of Bo and Matilda woke me back up - he really did add the spark to this rather lackluster season. God I hope he doesn’t win.

Yeah! We are now up to page 7 of 10 in my notes - I can go to bed soon!

Another $6 million dollar break - we could have built 5 Steve Austins by now...

Ryan is back to plug all the various ways we can help keep the AI Gods from raining frogs down on our heads - buy Cds, concert tickets, etc.

Now they have more time to waste, so they give us the Top 10 Worst (wouldn’t that actually be Bottom 10?) contestants of this season.

10. Darrin - the scary Marilyn Manson-Charlie Chaplin-Liza Minelli guy

9. Toni Braxton’s cousin who sang in Swahili (oh come on - like YOU understood anything he sang)

8,7,6,5. The guy with the 5.9% headband (an indicator of just how much gray matter he had not yet rotted away) who sang in four voices.

4. Robert Solomon - He sang Dancing In The Streets which is exactly where he was directed to go

3. Psychic Bobbie Mae who could not predict how bad she was or how many people would laugh hysterically at her expense.

2. Maurice Thomas, who swore he sounded just like Brian McKnight, but actually sounded like Elmo McKnight

1. Larry Wells - Can you dig his crunked out teeth?  No, I cannot.

Ryan reminds us that we could be the next great American laughing stock, so make plans to audition for Season 6 of Idol this summer!

Ahhh, more crap dredged up from the AI septic tank. Adam and Derek, the two Star Trek convention escapees who bonded over their mutual nerdiness during auditions, one even professing his love and admiration for David Hasselhoff. Well, lo and behold, they are in the house tonight! And just when I thought they had drained the outhouse dry, out pops the real David Hasselhoff to send poor Dork , er Derek, into hysterics.

Thankfully, I was saved from vomiting on myself by $10 million in commercials. Oh wait - here it comes back up my esophagus! They are now subjecting us to a Prime Time Expose spoof - sorry people - I hit that triple speed fast forward - and immediately felt bad for all of you who actually sat through the 10 minutes of crap whose entire punchline was that Simon loves Simon. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did they have Conny dressed in a moustache somewhere in there? NOT. WORTH. TIVOING. BACK. TO. CONFIRM.

Back from another break and yippee! The Idols get to sing with their Idols. Carrie kicks it off with Rascal Flatts singing The Broken Road. I will say this, I do not like country music, but even I would buy that one. They sounded perfect together. This segued into Anthony and Anwar singing I Can Fly with Kenny G and his saxophone. Come on. MAYBE, possibly he could be Anwar’s Idol, but no way in hell is he Anthony’s. It was not great and I must say that Matilda has far more stage presence than Kenny’s sax. (Did anyone else notice the Phantom of the Opera in dreadlocks banging on the piano behind them?)

Switching to the ministage behind the judges, we ramp up the mood with Kenny Wayne Shepard (my turn to go Who?) on guitar and Constantine, Jessica and Nadia butchering Walk This Way. I give the round to Jessica who can out rock poseur Conny anyday, but I would advise Jess to talk with Matilda about diet tips - a bulging, untoned tummy has no business hanging out of your pants into the spotlight - BAD BAD BAD stylists who let that happen. Nadia was wearing a black handkerchief, as best I could tell - BAD BAD BAD stylists!

Next up was George Benson, Nikko Smith and Scott Savol singing On Broadway. I admit it, I forwarded through the whole thing - sue me. Just don’t tell Scott - I’m afraid of flying phones.

I slowed down in time to catch Vonzelle, breathtaking as ever in black satin, perched atop a piano singing a duet with Billy Preston. I love Baby V - I truly wish good things for her. She can sing and, dammit, is just infectious with that smile.

Unfortunately, all good things (Vonzelle) must come to an end and we must perform penance for our sins, hence, Lindsay and Mikalah flanking poor Baby Face on two stools. If there has ever been a man wondering just what he had done to piss off God to such a degree, it was Baby Face. He actually looked afraid of Mikalah when she sang so close, and so dreadfully off key, to his face. Lindsay sounded ok, but it was every reason I need to keep my money this summer when the concert rolls into town. Oh. My. God. Mikalah just patted Baby Face on the back, like, "See? You did a good job honey!"

Thankfully Bo rocked on in with Lynyrd Skynryd and I have never seen such a happy man. He looked thrilled to be playing with his idols as they led the crowd in Sweet Home Alabama. Towards the end, all the finalists joined the stage, but it was clearly Bo’s show.

God, I hope he doesn’t win. It would SO soil who he is.

Another commercial break which touted the new Fox summer show, So You Think You Can Dance? Uh, if dancing means spinning on my head and dislocating all my limbs, no, I cannot.

FINALLY. WE. ARE. READY. FOR. THE. RESULTS.

Ryan announces that the winner will not only get a recording contract (Ha - they both already signed with Clive Davis), new friends (they both seem to be happy with their old ones) and their very own Marquis Jet card giving them access to their own private jet. Now THAT would be cool.

Flanking Ryan, are Bo and Carrie, ready as anyone for the results. And I daresay a solid night’s sleep.

Edward Baddington, phone guru and possibly Simon’s long lost brother, came onstage to deliver the golden envelope and verify that this season’s vote total exceeded 500,000,000 - that’s almost as much as the ad revenue!

Amazingly, Ryan made it fairly quick, ripping open the envelope and delivering the verdict that CARRIE UNDERWOOD WON.

Color me all shades of surprised. I hope you didn’t fall down in a faint. Here, breathe into this paper bag. That’s good...

Carrie immediately burst into tears, and Bo genuinely seemed happy for her. Honestly, he must have been having nightsweats worrying that he may have to spend the rest of his life lumped together with Ruben Studdard and Clay Aiken. I think I was happier for Bo’s 2^nd place finish than for Carrie’s totally predictable win.

The finalists flooded the stage and in a gesture sure to ignite web surfers for the next three weeks, Anthony embraced her center stage. I think Google had better buy a bigger server.

Another reason I am glad Bo did not win? WAY too many people have been Googling the words Bo Bice Girlfriend and Photos of Bo Bice Girlfriend Caroline. To me that’s frightening because history has shown us there are enough psycho-bitches out there who somehow think they are destined to be Mrs. Famous, regardless of the fact Mr. Famous, in this case Bo, has a longterm, pregnant girlfriend. Please join the rest of us on the reality bus, ladies - there’s still room.

Anyway, despite her tears, Ryan thrust a microphone into her hand and asked that she sing her new single, Inside Your Heaven, which will be released June 14^th. She pulled it together enough to get through, although I think she was momentarily worried her hairsprayed head was going to go up in flames when the stage behind her exploded like the Sun, and then had to contend with a possible choking death by confetti, however, she ended up fine with a Thank You America scream.

And so that’s it Idol fans. Another season dead and buried. Yet in our sadness, let us look forward - towards a new season - who knows what William Hung-Mikalah Gordon nightmare is out there right now practicing in the shower and just waiting for his/her moment in the sun?

Sharp, out!

American Idol Finale Recap, Tuesday May 24: The Donny & Marie Show(down)

Call it lame, but the title of this recap sums it all up. As we head into this kinda-sorta awaited finale tonight, we have long known that it was going to come down to Marie Underwood, a little bit country, and Donny Bice - a little bit rock ‘n roll.

If the producers hadn’t believed Idol voters to be lemmings up to now, the way we were all so easily steered towards this final two should convince them. We would surely follow them straight off a cliff into the ocean.

That being said, let’s all get excited about at least one thing: The final tonight is only one hour long!

Yippee! Hooray! I’ll even make a poster and hold it up! "SIXTY MINUTES ROCKS!"

God knows, they could have dragged this out like some musical Battaan Death March - oh wait, that’s tomorrow night, when we will be subjected for two hours to everything but what we are watching for: the results.

Tomorrow night’s commercial bonanza will be interspersed with performances by Constantine (yes people, like a bad penny or a case of herpes, he’s back), Lindsay Cardinale - don’t say Who?, she was a finalist, remember?, and more! We’ll hear ear bleeding numbers performed by all the finalists as they try out their summer concert choreography on us. Kind of like a show playing Toledo and Cleveland before moving to Broadway, only they will be playing Toledo and Cleveland with no hope of Broadway in sight...

Someone ask Paula to pass the Happy Pills...

Anyway, my point way back there is that tonight is mercifully short, so we’ll take it while we can get it. Tomorrow night? Pack a lunch.

Quickly, before we get into it: your top Googles this past week include: Vonzelle Crying (get over it - that was two weeks ago, she’s not crying anymore), Carrie Underwood Pregnant (time will tell people, however, I seriously doubt it. Any free horizontal time she’s had lately was spent dead asleep), Bo Bice Costumes and Bo Bice Nice Ass (how can you tell? It is always covered by a tunic made by Grandma Moses.) And finally, Anthony Fedorov Naked Photos (for the love of God - whoever you are, STOP - I don’t have any, and if I did, I wouldn’t share, so there.).

On to the recap...

Watching the elebubble rise to the top of the glass, I am suddenly struck by two emotions: sadness that I shall only see this intro one more time this season, and sheer, unadulterated bliss that I shall only have to describe this intro one more time this season.

Ryan is dressed for success this evening - black suit, dark dress shirt - the 3,000 screaming banshees in the Kodak Theater seem to approve of his wardrobe choice. Either that or they’re just really happy to be breathing the same air as Rosanne and Scott Savol - God, wouldn’t that be a match made in heaven?

Ryan asks the ridiculous question, "Who will be the next American Idol?", thus illiciting Pavlov-like barks of Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo and Carrieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, which all together actually sound like Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

He quickly intros the judges: Randy dressed in a pink and orange muumuu, Paula wearing cleavage by Pamela Anderson and chandeliers stolen from the Kodak lobby in her ears, and Simon who in a nod to tonight’s big gig, actually threw on a sports coat over top of his...black t-shirt.

Reminding us that we have not had a boy vs girl finale since Kelly Clarkson handed Justin Guarini his ass to wear as a hat, we get to see a flashback to last week’s post result’s show coin toss meant to determine who would choose the singing order tonight. Ooooooo, special coin! One side has Bo’s face, the other Carrie’s - Cooool - I bet The Palms casino in Vegas starts using them at the tables any day now.

Ryan attempts to toss the coin, which then enters the grating at the front of the stage. I did not want to say it was staged, but when Carrie, Bo and the crew bent over looking for it, I began to believe it was done so they could all look down Ms. Underwood’s very loose shirt.

On the retoss - Carrie’s face was up, and she chose to sing second on show night. Wow - the farmgirl has learned some big city strategy!

Flash forward to tonight and Bo is set to sing an original song, The Long, Long Road. Decked out in new shades, his signature Jesus tunic top, jeans and hair so reflective that it made the executives at Pantene sit up and take notice, Bo launched into a song no one had ever heard and immediately proved why he is better than Carrie. He becomes the song he is singing, be doesn’t just sing the words, he delivers them right to your gut.

Although it was a ballad, Matilda the Mike Stand got a waltz in anyway. I’m done beating Bo up about it - as long as Matilda is happy, carry her everywhere, dude. I’m really kinda jealous...

The judges did not like it as much as Bo’s Grandma, who was bouncing so much she damn near put an eye out with her boobs. Randy "did not love the song" but added that "it doesn’t matter what you do, you always bring it home." A’ight.

Paula said he could "sing the dictionary" and everyone would be "vibing with you" - I agree, at least until he got to words like oscilliscope and zymurgy - both rather hard to wrap your tongue around musically.

Simon said he looked like his high school chemistry teacher and added that Bo needs to "do a helluva lot better tonight" to beat Carrie. Ahhhh, let the subliminal "I want Carrie to win" hints begin.

The contestants each have three phone numbers AND a text message number tonight. Bo - always the odd man out, has numbers 01, 03, 05.

After a break, we are back to listen to Carrie singing the original Inside Your Heaven, which Bo will also sing later in the show. She is dressed in jeans, red shirt, a beige blazer and for you Googlers, no pregnant tummy in sight.

Her performance kept her at the stationary mike stand, a good thing, she still tends to move like the Tinman without his oil can, plus you could see it in her eyes - no, not wires and electronic circuitry - you could see she was nervous, scared, overwhelmed - actual emotions. She hit her Anwar glory note towards the end where she was much stronger. Look out Nashville, here comes Carrie. I bet Leann Rimes is losing sleep tonight.

Randy called it a "wild night" and "didn’t love that song either". He noted her first half as pitchy, but like all good idols, she brought it home in the end. (Insert shot of Anthony whistling for Carrie - dear God, Google is going to blow up tomorrow.).

Paula rambled about a few bad notes, but that in the end, who cares? Exactly how we feel about you Ms. Abdul.

Simon, however, said it was "much better than Bo’s song" and warned her to "pace herself". Round One went to Carrie. Ding!

Coming back from commerical, I half expect to see Scott Savol in a bikini walking a boxing round placard around the stage...screw your ears, that would be enough to make you want Tyson to bite your eyes out of your head.

Up with his second song, Bo is ready to rock us all with a reprise of his mid- season 70's winner, Vehicle. Denim shirt, jeans and actual boots, not flip flops served him well as he gave Matilda the ride of her life. Bo worked the entire stage, interacting with the crowd and delivering a Formula 1 performance.

And those hot pink spots in his freshly ironed hair? Great God in heaven you know I love you, Bo...

Randy said "That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout" and "that was hot". Paula commended him on being "the authentic Bo we have come to know and love" - huh?, never mind - and Simon said "Welcome Back - we have a competition." Snooty Shmuck. In the grand scheme of things, none of those kids was ever real competition for Bo.

Another break brings us back to Ryan standing among the finalists of this season - Mikalah looks FABulous, Nadia’s hair was stellar and Lindsay just looked happy as a pig in shit to be on TV again. Scott, of course, was scowling. Get over it dude. You lasted longer than a plague of locusts and did just as much damage - now go back underground, will you?

Carrie has chosen to sing Independence Day, which she sang earlier in the season. Jeans, a long brown tunic from the Bice Collection, and boots, she started to sing and it just seemed forced. Even doing a country tune, Carrie is really nervous tonight. There is no doubt she can sing, but that whole "connecting to the song" thing is just lost on her.

Yes Carrie - let the whole world know that today, is a day of a’ reckoning. Relax, I reckon you will be just fine, with or without the Idol title.

Paris Jackson gave her a "welcome back", "amazing vocal" and "That was hot". Paula thought it was brilliant, but then again she thinks it’s brilliant to sleep with contestants, so who really cares what she thinks? Simon said if he were her, he would have chosen to sing "Crying" again. No Simon, we had to hear it twice last week. Three times would not have been a charm, more like a curse. He gave Round 2 to Bo. Ding, ding!

Ryan tells us we need to take another break - have to pay the bills, you know. Yeah, Ryan, but at $1 million per 30 seconds, I daresay you guys won’t have trouble keeping the lights on. Yes, that’s right, $1 million per 30 seconds. That’s Superbowl money there. Only the ads are no where near as great - I mean, $1 million to advertise a Hilary Duff movie? Ugh.

Back to Round 3, the pivotal round as Ryan calls it, and Bo will now be singing Inside Your Heaven, or will he? The lights are on, the music is playing and whoa!, there he is! Bo came running onto the stage just in time to sing the first line. Man, was he pissed off - you could see it in his eyes. Wardrobe malfunction? Make-up debacle? Did Carrie lock him in the bathroom?

No matter, Bo is Bo and he recovered quickly. Looking hot in a white blazer, untucked shirt, jeans and chains, he sang the same song Carrie had sung, but it was a different song entirely. Bo makes you listen to the words. He paints more emotion into a song than Jackson Pollack ever splattered on all his canvases combined.

As I watched him I had two thoughts: 1. He IS a star. Period. And 2.) Please voters, don’t give him the title. He doesn’t need it and will only be hurt by carrying that dorky albatross forever around his ultracool shoulders.

It was the first time I ever wanted Carrie to win.

As he closed the song, the audience was on its feet - they adore him. We all do. Quite frankly, we adore them both. There really is no polarizing Ruben vs Clay force this year. I don't think anyone will be unhappy with either as the winner. They are both so damned likeable and talented in their own ways.

Randy told him, "you forever in my dawg pound", what I have decided is a dubious honor, afterall, the man is wearing an orange muumuu for God’s sake. Paula said she "fell in love with the song" and Simon said it was "the only time I have seen your nerves" - uh hello Simon? - he had been locked in the bathroom by Carrie and almost missed his cue. Despite that, Simon took the opportunity to tell him that "It has been an absolute pleasure having you on American Idol." Enjoy the rest of your flight...

One more commerical cashapalooza brings us back to Carrie singing song #3, called Angels Brought Me Here. God, what a planted song. It practically had leaves and a stem. Not since "Moment Like This" in season one has a song been so obvious.

Carrie looked very mature in her black cocktail dress - mature being defined by more cleavage than Paula Abdul - and she sang the pants off the song. Her range, her vocal power and yes, honest to God emotion as she sang were beautiful. And when she not only hit, but held that note towards the end, I actually got tears in my eyes for her. It was a homerun to end the season with.

Carrie even got weepy on the very last note - a first for America’s favorite fembot. She was truly in the moment and overwhelmed by all of it. THAT is what America has waited an entire season to see. Her caring as much about this ridiculous show as we do.

Randy was up on his feet applauding, Paula told her she had "accomplished a lifetime of achievement in the past six months" and Simon said simply, "You have a lot of guts going up against Bo, but I think you’ve done enough to win this competition."

And the hypnotized lemmings raced to their phones...

As Ryan spoke with Carrie and once again gave out her numbers, she mouthed something to the cameras. I would like to make it clear: I TiVod it back FIVE times - she said "Hi Dad, I Love You.", it was nothing about, or to, Anthony Fedorov.

The final segment of the show allowed us all to watch a montage of the entire Season 4 journey, the highs, lows, the wired and the weird, the laughter and the many, many, MANY tears.  God, how many people cried?

When asked to sum up the season, Randy declared it "The best season ever" - I think, based solely on Bo Bice, I have to agree. He brought more hipness, soul and originality to that stage than in all the past seasons combined. Paula heralded "the most amazing talent" - again, gag, I agree with Paula.

And Simon, ever humble Simon, simply wanted to "Thank America for listening to me." I’ll give you Carrie on that one Simon, but even you never saw the phenomenom that is Bo Bice, coming.

So what do you think? Will Bo be saddled with a title that fits worse than Scott’s bikini? Will Carrie win it all and glide on into Nashville? Will Anthony whistle at Carrie again? Will LeAnn Rimes write anonymous hate letters to Carrie?

Only time will tell, Idol watchers. And God knows, tomorrow night, we have plenty of that on our hands.

Kill Bill? Frankly We Can Use Maher Like Him

Another day, another Congressman with an axe to grind.

This time, our candidate for Panties In The Biggest Wad is Representative Spencer Bachus, R-Ala.

After watching a rerun of comedian Bill Maher’s popular HBO commentary program, Real Time, in which Mr. Maher dared to, gasp!, crack wise about the Army having missed its April recruiting goal by 42%, Representative Bachus went ballistic.

For the uneducated, and those without HBO (God love you - how do you survive without Deadwood?), Bill begins his shows each week with an editorial rant - reminiscent of Dennis Miller - then moves into a panel discussion of the week’s hot button issues with three very disparate, yet mostly articulate public figures. Think Gore Vidal, Arianna Huffington and Ian McShane (of Deadwood) or Al Franken, Natalie Maines and Charles Barkley - yes, you can see immediately the potential for fun, spirited, irreverent debate.

It was Bill’s remark about reduced recruiting numbers, "More people joined the Michael Jackson fan club. We've done picked all the low-lying Lynndie England fruit, and now we need warm bodies.", that began the bunching of the Fruit of Looms in Bachus’s tight ass.

Bachus was "appalled" and began banging the Kill Bill drum, "I think it borders on treason. In treason, one definition is to undermine the effort or national security of our country." He has since contacted Time-Warner, HBO’s parent company, in an attempt to have the plug pulled on Maher’s program.

Excuse me?

I have news for Representative Bachus: compared to the stuffy, carefully worded, hot air espoused by politicians who get elected and then immediately forget they are in Washington for the greater good, not a personal powerfest, Bill Maher’s a much more believable and listenable option.

What’s priceless about shows like Maher’s is that politically correct speech making is sacrificed on the alter of truth and disdain for general bullshitting. And anyone who has ever watched a single episode knows that Maher supports the men and women in the armed forces 100%. What he does not support are the pandering, lying politicians who send them to their deaths under false pretenses.

Funny, I’d wager more Americans think along Bill’s lines than Bachus’s.

Our troops have no choice. They sign up, this is their job. They go where they are told, leaving personal bias, feeling and thought out of the equation. I have two brothers, both former Marines, I understand the mind set.

But my brothers also illustrate Bill’s "low-lying fruit" comment. Not coming from a wealthy family, and having no general direction in which to go after high school, they were easy recruits for the military. Fish in a barrel, as it were. Only one of my family’s fish got shot in the head during Desert Storm.

We were lucky. He came back in one living, breathing piece, not a bunch of anchovy fillets like today’s enlisted.

With so many dying each day in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the mounting evidence that Iraq was entered into with erroneous information and is quickly morphing into a modern day Vietnam, it should surprise no one that young people are looking at the Slurpee machine job at the local 7-11 with more interest than they are the Be An Army Of One posters.

They are seeing daily that all it takes is a single IED and your platoon can be reduced to an army of one in a heartbeat.

Comedians, especially the ones like Maher, who dare to tread into current events and call hypocrites, hypocrites, are not villains. Giving voice to an opposing view or even making fun of a subject does not make them a criminal, much less a traitor.

Comedians like Maher are smart. They have to be - you cannot offer biting satire unless you have in depth knowledge of the subject matter to back you up. They read, they stay informed, they research, and then they make the joke.

Anyone who doubts that should tune in to Real Time (Friday nights, 10pm) and watch Maher in action. Sure he’s irreverent, sure he’s disrespectful, sure he says things designed to make people bristle, but I guarantee you, he also holds his own every week against pundits, politicians and professional journalists.

He also makes sense. Couple that with the ability to say what others only think and you have a formidable combination.

So to Representative Bachus, I say, shut up and sit down, you're blocking the TV screen.

The American people are smarter than you or any of your cronies ever want to admit and we vote with our remote controls.

I daresay, Bill is going to win this one by a landslide.

They Don't Know Dick: Convicts Hard Up For Viagra Get Government Handjob...er, Handout

Have I missed something in the Constitution? Is there an amendment I am not aware of? I mean I realize it’s been a while, but I think I can even still sing the preamble, thanks to all those Saturday morning Schoolhouse Rocks. Let’s see...

We the people, in order to form a more per-fect u-nion

Establish justice, insure domestic tranquility-ee

Pro-vide for the common defense, promote the general welfare an-and

Secure the blessings of liber-ty

For ourselves and our posteri-tyyyy

To ordain and es-ta-a-blish this Constitutionnnn

Fo-or th-e, United St-ates o-of A-mer-i-ca-aa

The United States of Americaaaaaaaaa.

Nope, I checked. No where in there or any of the Amendments does it state the government shall insure the blessings of an instant woody whenever and wherever you need it. And yet, they do. Cum one! Cum all!, seems to be on the invite that allows registered sex offenders Medicaid provided Viagra prescriptions.

Oh we’re sorry - you want to go out and rape a two year old, but your pee-pee won’t get hard? And you can’t even afford Canadian Viagra from the Internet? There, there, your federal government will have you up and running from the law in no time...

Yes, my dear people, through an internal audit conducted by the state comptroller’s office, it was discovered that your tax dollars are being used to provide Viagra to 198, level three (the nasty kind), convicted sex offenders in New York alone.

With the most recent number from the U.S. Justice Department showing that 30,000 all level, sex offenders were released back into our presence in 2003, I’ll pause for a moment to allow you to fantasize about the number of perverted, worthless, child raping, sacks of shit living near you, just salivating for a chance to bolster the old recidivism rates.

Seriously, think about it. If New York has close to 200 high risk offenders receiving this shameful benefit, I’d hazard a guess that you wouldn’t have to pack a lunch if you looking to find the ones in your state. It would probably be a quick search.

What astounds me is that this has been going on for years and years.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a functioning penis one of the main tools of the trade? I mean without the erection, you are left with rage and violence, which are not exactly great either, but without a stiffie, you can’t exactly sodomize a toddler.

And while that statement is hanging in the air like a penis with erectile dysfunction, may I just go on record as saying: Anyone who sexually molests, assaults, rapes a minor - even those people who haven’t, but who find anything remotely sexy about a diaper wearing three year old, don’t need Viagra. They need a cyanide prescription because they are sucking up the oxygen we decent people need.

They do not deserve second, third, fourth chances at rejoining society. And the ones who not only abuse, but kill? Frankly, every second that they are alive past when their victims are dead, is a mockery of any form of justice. They deserve to die, period. Preferably painfully, with a spaghetti squash jammed in their asses.

But I digress...

We live in a country where women are routinely denied coverage for birth control, but our erected officials - sorry, elected officials - most of whom are men, insist insurance companies, Medicare and Medicaid provide all males with the ability to get it up.

Talk about getting screwed. I’d have to check with the ACLU, but since when is a hard-on a civil liberty that needs protection?

But back to providing sex offenders with Viagra, Cialis, et al. Isn’t that a little like giving gang bangers an Uzi when they get out on probation? Providing a parting gift of crack to junkies exiting the penal system? Or stock tips to Martha Stewart over dinner?

Of course, now that this has come up and the general population is all excited and aroused by the subject, the Bush Administration is working feverishly to close the loophole.

Sorry George, but the horse has been out of the barn humping the general populace for years.

But wait! This isn't the only Viagra controversy. Beginning in January 2006, Medicare will provide seniors with Viagra and similar drugs, costing taxpayers nearly $2 billion over 10 years. Meanwhile, birth control pills are still not covered by Medicare.

Yep, make sure Grandpa Joe can spread it around the nursing home, but don’t protect inner city teens from unwanted pregnancies.

Ah well, it’s not like much of anything our government does truely makes sense, so we may as well alter the preamble until they can pull their heads out of their collective asses and wake up.

We the people, because we don’t have a brain in our hea-eds,

Establish Congress to stiffen your pe-nis if it’s dea-ed..

Pro-vide for the sex offenders!

Make sure their dick is in working order

secure the bless-ings of Via-gra

they don’t have to spend one dolla!

We ordain and es-tab-ab-lish this convolution

For-or th-e criminals o-of Ameri-ca...aa

The old farts of Americaaaaaaaaaa.

Seeing Red

I have always believed that in order to excel at anything in the physical realm, ie: sports, the most important factor was intense mental committment to practice - the drive to be the best. Of course workouts, natural talent and steroids obviously play a factor, but I always assumed the ones who won were the ones who worked the hardest at it.

You know what they say about that word "assume" making an ass out of u and me? Well, hee-haw, scientists have again proven me wrong.

Apparently all it takes to excel in your chosen sport is to the don the color red.

Right, I said red, Fred.

British anthropolgists with too much time on their hands turned the 2004 Olympic Games into their own personal petri dish, using a Crayola Box Criteria to assess winners and losers.

What they found might actually be startling if I could get past rolling my eyes and laughing out loud.

Apparently, after observing four sports: Boxing, Tae Kwon Do, Freestyle Wrestling and Greco-Roman Wrestling (distinguished by participants dressed in togas and strappy sandals as opposed to ‘do rags and lowriders in Freestyle.), these scientists were able to conclude that by wearing red you can seriously freak out your opponent.

And God help them if they are decked out in light blue or baby pink - they might as well forfeit the whole match and go suck their thumbs in a corner.

According to the British Brain Trust, red has long been associated with vigor and danger. So maybe the opponent gets wigged out, confuses the jersey for blood, and not wanting to be the next victim, rolls over and wiggles his legs in the air like a turtle?

This could explain all those golf matches where Fred Couples was seen on the ground as Tiger walked down the course in his signature red Sunday shirt.

Maybe there is something to the implied strength in the color red? After all, stop signs are red and, for the most part, we obey these metal hexagons of highwaydom. Although, if you are one of those people who completely stop at one, in the middle of a cornfield, with no other car, truck or tractor visible for miles, you have some serious intimidation issues.

Black widows spiders have a red dot on their belly, although if you get close enough to see it, you deserve to have your ass handed back to you by the spider.

And aren’t most Ferarris painted red? Zoom, zoom - by golly I think they are, which somehow translates into all red car owners (Minis to Maseratis) paying higher insurance premiums. That really doesn’t make much sense, if this research is to be believed. If your car is red, then all the other drivers on the road should be intimidated and therefore pull over to let you through. This results in the road being clearer when you drive, ergo, your premiums should be lower.

Someone get that lizard from Geico on the phone for me.

While the statistic of 16 out of 21 matches being won by athletes supported by the color red (no word on whether their athletic supporters were red too) is notable, what exactly does it prove?

Not a damned thing - just ask the scientists - who have to admit they don’t know.

Their faces, of course, were red.

You Go Girl - Right To The Head Of The Class

I love underdog stories.

No, not the ones with the stupid flying dog from cartoons past.

I mean the ones where ordinary people, expected to be quiet and take being stomped on by a situation or society, triumph.

Today’s winner for "Take Your Pathetic Rules And Shove Them" is Alysha Cosby of Montgomery, Georgia.

Alysha is a graduating senior at a Roman Catholic High School in Montgomery - yeah, keep reading, it gets better.

Alysha also happens to be a senior who got pregnant roughly five months ago.

Per the student handbook rules, she advised the school of her condition "as soon as she found out". Fine. I can live with "advising the school" on the basis of potential health complications, but that’s it. Beyond letting them know, their intrusion upon her life should end right there.

While I realize sex out of wedlock flies in the face of Catholic doctrine, I would think once the sperm is out of the barn, there would at least be support for her decision to have the child vs. abortion, another big Catholic no-no.

But like many things I can’t reconcile in the world’s largest corporation (from which I ran in my 20s), the school hierarchy, back in March, told her not only did she need to complete her studies at home, but that she would not be allowed to participate in the graduation ceremonies.

Basically, the bump under your gown would embarrass us, so stay out of sight.

Of course, the young man who knocked her up was welcome at the ceremony with open arms. Not a scarlet letter in sight on his gown either.

Ya gotta love the Catholic Church.

And so Alysha continued her studies at home, maintaining her honor roll grades, an invisible student on St. Jude’s roster. But it gnawed at her how she was being treated - she had waited her entire high school career to walk that stage with her classmates and receive her well earned diploma.

And so, on the night of the ceremony, towards the close of the program, she announced her own name and walked across the stage - to the applause and cheers of classmates, but to the gasps and horror of school officials. As she made her way to the back of the church where her mother and aunt were seated, they were all escorted from the building by police.

What. A. Crock. Of. Shit.

Now I do not argue that getting pregnant at 17 is not exactly an ideal scenario, we all know it’s not. BUT, it happened. And to penalize the girl, who is trying her best to be responsible, just does not cut it in 2005.

And I really want to know, just where is the isolation for the boy? Why was he not ostracized along with Alysha? Why was he allowed to pick up his diploma while her name was not even included in the list of graduates in the program? He had just as much a hand, and a penis, in her getting pregnant, did he not?

And if he is being treated as if he had nothing to do with it, then that would make her situation an Immaculate Conception, correct?  It seems in a religion where the followers willingly worship old grilled cheese and highway overpass stains, that would be a welcome thing, right? .

I applaud her actions - they were peaceful, she did not rant and rave.  And I only hope that Alysha continues to exhibit this kind of strength in the upcoming years, it will serve her and her child well.

As for the Catholic Brain Trust in Montgomery? I believe I shall create a brand new commandment just for you:

Thou shalt pull thy fat head out of thy tight ass.

Amen.