A recent Tyra Banks Show/CNN poll revealed that teens are having sex. Lots of sex. Girls are losing their virginity by age 15 and are even doing it at school. And Tyra, the silly goose, is shocked. The nitwit who wore a fat suit to try to understand what obese people go through, now realizes that teens are banging.

I could think of a lot of other things Tyra should be a bit more shocked at, like that her stupid show is still on the air or that by now most men would rather fuck Ernie Banks than Tyra Banks.

Hasn’t she ever watched Dateline NBC?

While fending off the teachers, neighbors and online predators who want to foul them, these girls also have to decide whether to give it up to the boys their own age, or else be called a prude. Or worse - not called at all. It’s hard being a teenage girl. Other news stories have shown us that teen boys can get sex either from their female teachers or their high school football team. It’s competitive out there.

And, Tyra, every news station in the country has done this story. Go into hiding with Kim Alexis and Cheryl Tiegs. Please.

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Let’s stop treating these teens like children. In Arizona there’s a 12-year-old who shot and killed one of his parents. He could be tried as an adult. In Tucson, one of the news stations refers to high school football as “bone crunching action.”

Bone crunching! These are kids! Get a pro sports team, you blood-thirsty desert hayseeds!

If kids can have adults watch them crunch each others bones, they can certainly jump said bones in the bathroom during lunch period.

Here’s one that really gets me - That abysmal show Dancing with the Stars has a segment on which little kids - a boy and a girl - dance together. After all the talk about how sexy the adults are dancing, and how hot it was, whose frigging idea was it to have children performing those same dances? Who’s the pederast at ABC who thought - Yeah, I’d like to see a couple of eight-year-olds sweating like those two are. That’d be sexy! Get me the third grade equivalent of Julianne Huff immediately!

Try watching it. It’s JonBenet creepy.

After much deliberation, the Country Music Association has decided that the show must go on. Despite the tragedy of Barack Obama’s victory in last week’s presidential election, the CMA Awards will go on as planned on November 12.

American Idol minx Carrie Underwood, and a piece of paisley fabric apparently, will host the awards that will take place probably in Nashville or some similar place.

The show will be highlighted by numerous moments of silence and an appearance from Lord and Lady Antebellum of Jesusland.

Meanwhile, after threatening to move to Canada, of all places, during the Bush administration, Democrats are now planning to rename America “Utopia” after the Great Barack Obama’s presidential miracle.

“Do you believe?” fans ask each other rhetorically while high-fiving and organizing communities.

Experts say that during the Obama administration food will taste better, air will be sweeter, and unicorns and mermaids will dance in the streets. Already on the president’s agenda: world peace, curing cancer, and helping the Cubs win the World Series next year.

There is utter joy in Obamanation. Some might call it gittiness. Bliss. Euphoria. Gaiety. Glee. Jollity. Jubilation. I love online thesauruses!

The following are actual statuses posted by some of my writer friends on Facebook. The names have been changed to protect the usually intelligent, but occasionally daffy:

*Sillygoose McGetoutoftown is giving Zeek (the 9-year-old) Wednesday’s front page to hang in his room.

*Tedium Sleeperhold is looking forward to our president-elect’s press conference today like he looks forward to Christmas and glazed donuts.

*Tickle Me Mussolini gets all warm and tingly when she hears the words “President Obama.”

*Waa-Waa O’Crybaby cried at Obama’s words. Thank God for Obama.

*Bob Smith is WOOOOHOOOO WOOOOHOOOO WOOOHOOO.

*George “the Animal” Steele One of the best moments of my life was telling my son this morning about the newly elected president.

In the words of some of the characters on that stupid Grey’s Anatomy show, “Seriously?”

“Seriously!?!”

Then you even have all the cute ones who put Hussein in between their name, even though it’s completely against Facebook policy. I guess all of our middle names are Hussein now. That’s what the ‘H’ in Jesus H. Christ stands for.

I’d like to believe that Barack Obama walks on water, but I can’t help but think that these delirious little children are going to be disappointed when they find out the man is merely a politician. Just a dude who successfully used the Senate as a springboard to becoming Commander in Chief. No different than any other.

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Is the taste left in the mouths of the “Bush is Hitler” types from that administration so bad that many of us are clinging to the Barack as savior dream? I never liked or voted for Bush, and I don’t want to understate the importance of the first half-Kenyan president. I mean, we’ve still only had one of those nasty Catholics in the White House. This is like when a non-Kenyan wins the Boston Marathon. But, jeezy creezy, let’s keep our perspective here. Christmas? The tinglies? Tears and donuts? “One of the best moments of my life?”

Let’s gain our composure. We are not Dorothy going from the tornado to Munchkinland. We are not living in a magical fantasy world. This man is a president. Like Carter, Garfield and Zachary Taylor. All the ones we make fun of now. Sure, he beat a war hero and an Alaskan hayseed, and now we have the “End of an Error,” and all that other horseshit, but let’s snap out of it.

I don’t care much for these highs and lows, good guys and bad guys, in American politics.

It’s like the Honky Tonk Man had the belt for eight years and now the Ultimate Warrior beat him for it and everyone’s throwing chairs into the ring in mad, mob-like celebration.

Might as well have Kool and the Gang follow Obama around and play that stupid song. We need 90s motivational speaker extraordinaire Susan Powter now more than ever to demand that we “Stop the insanity!”

Or not. What do I care? Now that I’ve finished with four wonderful 80s and 90s references, celebrate in smug happiness and joy all you want.

This is not an article about Cameron Diaz.  I just couldn’t really post any of the images that Google was suggesting for the word “chode.”  I decided that since I think Cameron Diaz is the nastiest, skankiest, infection-filled twat in current pop culture, I would use HER image as the tie-in photo, but I digress.

Let’s play musical chodes!

Okay, here’s the object of the game:  to think of as many song titles that have the word “heart” in them as you can, and replace that word with “chode.”  (The word “clunge” is also a permissible substitution)

Here are some examples:

1.  My Chode Will Go On

2.  I’ve Got a Hole In My Chode That Goes All the Way to China

3.  Young Chodes, Run Free

4.  Tearin’ Up My Chode

5.  Harden My Chode

You get the idea.  This game was born of an overnight shift at AOL, back in the DAY.  It may not sound like much, but as of this post, you will not be able to get it out of your head, and you will refer to it EVERY TIME you hear a song title or lyric that has the word “heart.”

It is both a blessing and a curse.  Enjoy!

… be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2.

Like Casey Kasem and every stupid magazine and Internet site on the planet, we’ve been doing a little countdown here. A Top 15, because I shant be contained by the number 10, and 20 is just too crazy. I mean, who am I? Dr. Demento?

But now we’ve reached the Top 5. The ladies I forgot all about once I met my wife. The ones who marked my insanity from the ages of 12 all the way up to 27. The greats, the beauties, the Top 5 birds on my own ridiculous all-time list. And they are…

5. Melissa Reeves

Thanks to my mom, I was raised on the soap opera Days of Our Lives. Summers were always about The Price is Right, the noon news and lunch, followed by a young Tom Bergeron and his local program People Are Talking, then Days, or DOOL, as uber fans call it. I was probably but a wee lad of 11 when I began seriously getting into the show, and that was precisely the year that Melissa Brennan, later Melissa Reeves, debuted on the show at age 18.

There were other dolls on this famous serial: Mary Beth Evans as Kayla Brady; Tracy Middendorf, and then Christie Clark as Carrie Brady; heartthrob quarterback Tom Brady. And Stefano DiMera? A sexier villain there never was!

But who cared about these seemingly countless other characters when there was young (or to me old, but not like some of the others on this list) Jennifer Horton. I remember being in college and scheduling my classes around DOOL, like so many other schoolgirls did.

Then, in 1995, tragedy struck when Melissa abruptly left the show and was replaced by some woman named Stephanie Cameron. “Whore!” I screamed. Who the hell was SHE to play the part of Jennifer Horton Devereuax? I toiled for five years watching this pretender play the part only my Missy could play. Joy and bliss ruled once again in 2000 when Melissa returned. By the time she left the show again in 2006, I had long since stopped watching this horse shit.

4. Devon/Devin

While Tiffany Mynx was my first love in the world of the pornographic features, Devon was the ultimate starlet. Who cares if a gal has had her tits and most of her face done? Hot is hot, and Devon, the former Vivid girl (you might call her a “porn star”), is hot.

Born Kristie Maria Lisa in Allentown, PA (made famous by Billy Joel with that wonderful tune, appropriately titled “Allentown”) on March 28, 1977, this former Penthouse pet got her start in the world of pornography in 1998. When I saw her on the ole Howard Stern Show, back when I listened to and watched that crap, I fell in love. So, of course, I had to have all her films, this fine young actress. That’s right. I purchased pornography once upon a time. Film with titles such as Where the Boys Aren’t 13, Asstroids, and Pussy Grinders.

Devon, now 31, left Vivid apparently in 2006 and now works for Shane’s World. Good girl. Keep it up!

3. Jennifer Love Hewitt

I have a very good friend who places this gal somewhere between Janet Reno and Lassie in the looks department. He enjoys e-mailing me photos of Ms. Hewitt with penises cleverly Photoshopped on her, along with other nasty items. The bastard.

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Wikipedia refers to Love as “an American actress and singer-songwriter.” Yeah, she’s Joni Frigging Mitchell. This young Waco, TX gal got her start on the ingenious television program Kids Incorporated. “K! I! D! S!”

After a few unsuccessful television programs and an adorable little film called Little Miss Millions, she hit it big by landing the role of Sarah Reeves on the tragicomedy Party of Five. She also starred in the abysmal POF spin-off Time of Your Life. This was a horrendous show, but it featured both Hewitt and Jennifer Garner as roommates, so you bet I was watching every damn episode. Problem was, it was basically about nothing, which is fine for comedies like Seinfeld, but the definition of drama is that something has to happen!

Love’s film career went from I Know What You Did Last Summer to a bunch of movies no one has ever heard of, but lucky for her this Ghost Whisperer show is something of a hit. And just look at that Maxim photo, eh?

2. Juliana Hatfield

There were many 90s alternative rock goddesses in my life: from Veruca Salt’s Nina Gordon and Louise Post to Letters to Cleo’s Kay Hanley to Garbage’s Shirley Manson. But none of them could compare to the incomparable singer-songwriter Juliana Hatfield.

From beautiful Duxbury, Mass, the lovely Miss Hatfield got her start with the indie rock band Blake Babies. They produced some fantastic albums such as “Earwig” and “Sunburn,” but soon Juliana went solo, like George Michael and Squeaky Fromme. In 1992 she released “Hey Babe,” then followed it up with “Become What You Are” which produced the hit singles, “My Sister” and “Spin the Bottle.” And Jules was a star! Like Madonna or Lizzie Borden!

I first saw Hatfield on Conan O’Brien, swooned like a little girl, and told my girlfriend I was leaving her, to which she replied she was not my girlfriend, but my History professor and my paper on the American Revolution was long overdue.

Anyway, after these two still-awesome solo albums, Juliana steadily started to fall downhill musically, in my opinion. Nonetheless, in 2000, on her tour of every Newbury Comics store in New England, I met this lovely gal - twice in one day, like a stalker, and managed to spit out the words, “Hi,” and “Thanks.” What wit! What charm!

Over time I’ve collected about 30 CDs, a half dozen bootleg videos, several posters, T-shirts, and live concert memories of Juliana. But, due to the terms of the restraining order, I was forced to move from Massachusetts to Arizona, which makes little sense to me, as she does most of her work these days in Los Angeles.

1. Calista Flockhart

Here she is, ladies and gentlemen! You might know her as the anorexic stick figure married to old man Han Solo and currently playing Laura Ingraham on some show with Sally Field. But when this boy saw the movie The Birdcage, amid all the laughing I was doing, I again fell completely in love. For the part of Barbara Keeley was being played by the most beautiful woman I had seen up to that time. “And what a lovely name!” I said when I watched the credits. And then, the following September, Ally McBeal premiered. Holy shit! I skipped WRESTLING on Monday nights to watch that beautiful program. Not since the days of Kate & Allie did I do that!

To give you an idea of how crazy in love I was, I wrote a wonderful short story, titled, “Calista Flockhart and the MySpace Hoax.” The part about Calista in the story - that was me. I was that insane. I once bought a T-shirt on eBay with Flockhart’s picture on it. I should have been put in a straight jacket.

Eventually Ms. Flockhart got thinner and thinner, and Ally started sucking, and now I couldn’t give a shit about her and don’t watch that awful siblings show she’s in. But back then, my God was I smitten!

So there you have it. Point at me and laugh.

This past Thursday Scarlett Johansson attended…

… attended a Michael J. MAMMARY GLANDS Fox foundation benefit for AIDS, ugly children, turkey sandwiches, gardening convention, Parkinson’s disease.

Scarlett “Big Red” Giant CHEST PLAYGROUND wore a dress to the event, although for the first half of the night no one noticed. It wasn’t until 11:30 that anyone noticed she had even arrived, finally looking up long enough to her face to identify her.

When reporters asked Fox what he thought about Johansson attending his event in support of finding a disease for Parkinson’s, Fox had this to say:

moooooooooooooooooooooooooo *heavy panting*

and then promptly got up and did the old-town soft-shoe for everyone, proving once again that with the proper motivation, your mind can cure anything.

When word got out of the breakthrough Fox had at his own benefit due to MOON CANNONS Johansson’s motivating presence, invitations were shot out to the Hollywood starlet to everything from “Save the Whales” to “Save my Pants… with Your Hands!”. Albeit that the last invitation was from me, but I’m trying to save stuff just as important as Fox.

Let’s face it, when you have these:

people are going to want to ask you to save stuff… save lots of stuff… save stuff that might not even need saving, maybe just… “mild attention”… save stuff that you tucked away for safe keeping even… stuff that was tucked away in your pockets maybe…

<Does anyone see where I’m going with this?>

… save important stuff that some folks might have forgotten about…

<HINT: I’m alluding to my pants and all that they contain.>

… save something that maybe isn’t appropriate to leave out while shopping or helping out at a soup kitchen, but non-the-less still needs attention from time to time…

<HINT: My penis… I’m talking about my penis.>

… save som… oh, looks like I gave it away already. Ahh well, then you get the idea.

Thanks The Superficial!

… be sure to read Part 1.

As I pushed our belongings down the halls of St. Joseph’s Hospital, I inexplicably pretended I was in the film Splash, me being Tom Hanks or Eugene Levy trying to sneak Daryl Hannah out.

Mind you, this was when I was actually preparing for my wife Amy and I to bring our new li’l baby home. What is wrong with me? I thought. This was not 48 hours after I was shouting at an in-labor Amy, “You’re gonna be okay!” like Harvey Keitel does to Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs after he was shot. I also couldn’t get a certain passage from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life out of my head:

Hospital Administrator: And what are you doing this morning?
Obstetrician: It’s a birth.
Hospital Administrator: Ah. And what sort of thing is that?
Dr. Spenser: Well, that’s where we take a new baby out of a lady’s tummy.
Hospital Administrator: Wonderful what we can do nowadays.

But Amy and I had our baby boy and I continued to think of the girls I might have wedded and had children with if my life as a celebrity stalker had ever truly taken shape.

That said, here are numbers 10 through 6 on our countdown.

10. Dinah Manoff

Yes, at one time, when I was in high school, I was madly in love with the daughter of legendary actress Lee Grant and one of the stars of the hit situation comedy Empty Nest.

While many favored lesbian and nutjob Kristy McNichol, it was sweet Dinah for me. I actually had a bunch of episodes of this miserable sitcom on tape for a while to enjoy over and over again. Anyone know the theme song? No? Good.

Dinah made many other TV appearances, including starring with Nell Carter in the 1992 TV movie, “Maid for Each Other.”

Get it?

They were maids…

9. Christine McVie

In another instance of passionate love for a woman older than my mother, I was a huge Fleetwood Mac fan at one point. But to hell with Stevie Nicks. I had it bad for John McVie’s ex-wife.

As a young high school boy, I didn’t as much go for the 1970s Christine. Present-day, menopausal McVie was what I wanted, as she sang like an angel on hit songs like “Little Lies” and “Everywhere.” She can collect social security now. I’ll bet you thought this list was gonna be hot, huh?

8. Debra “Madusa” Miceli

In the late 80s a beautiful, yet kick ass, lady appeared on the pro wrestling scene. Her name was Madusa Miceli and when the American Wrestling Association couldn’t contain her, she went to Ted Turner‘s World Championship Wrestling, ’cause that’s what super bad ass Italian babes do.

In WCW she went only as Madusa and won a famous bikini contest against Missy Hyatt due to the “heel” judging of Jesse “the Body” Ventura. She jumped to the WWF in 1993, taking the name Alundra Blayze, then went back to WCW, even throwing the WWF Women’s Title in the trash on live television. Today, she’s one up on former wrestling valets Sensational Sherri and Miss Elizabeth in that Madusa is still alive.

7. Valerie Bertinelli

Former Mrs. Eddie Van Halen, now a shill for Jennie Craig, Valerie was the beautiful and non-drugged out daughter on One Day at a Time. I would follow her like a dog through her horrible late 80s sitcom Syndey, which also starred Daniel Baldwin and a young Matthew Perry, and the equally bad early 90s comedy Cafe American.

Picture The Mary Tyler Moore Show in France, only completely shitty and unwatchable. By far my favorite Valerie film was the 1981 Comedy/Drama The Princess and the Cabbie, about a young woman (Valerie) who works to overcome her dyslexia with the help of a good-hearted cab driver (Robert Desiderio). She was absolutely adorable in that silly-ass flick, which also featured a pre-Cheers Shelley Long. Wolfgang’s mom has got it goin’ on.

6. Audrey Hepburn

This Academy-award winning Anglo-Dutch actress overcame growing up under Nazi rule to become one of the greats in all of motion pictures. The star of such films as Roman Holiday, Sabrina, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, in her later years she was a UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador and still pretty darn hot (Hey, if I had it for 40-year-olds, why not 60?).

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As a closing, I’d like to share with you an example of my infatuations with both Hepburn and our number 13 gal, Sylvia Plath. This is from a fictional Christmas piece I penned a while back:

…When we got Mom back in the house she broke down. Rebecca and I started crying too. She told everyone her marriage was over and that they should all just leave. No one wanted to go; they wanted to help her. But Mom was adamant and the family soon started exiting until a familiar face entered the house. It was my grandfather, who looked quite well, despite being dead for twelve years. Everyone was delighted especially to see that he had brought a date, as he simply glowed walking in arm-in-arm with Audrey Hepburn, and not the elderly, charitable Ms. Hepburn, but the elegant, early fifties Audrey. Grandpa always did like them young, from his parties with Roman Polanski to his kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. This was his first date since Grandma Sylvia Plathed herself Easter Sunday twenty years before…

Until Part 3…

Whether its Cheryl Tiegs, Lillian Gish or Sharon Tate after the murders, every young boy has a handful of starlets he’s pretty keen on, dames with stems for miles or huge gazoongas.

He may write this gal a fan letter; he may write her a poem. He may Rebecca Schaeffer her right on her own front porch. Who knows? Life is silly.

In honor of lists, and the ladies who once served as my own Farrah Fawcett posteresque pseudo-fantasies dating back to my little league days, I’ve compiled a list of 15 such broads. Whether it was the twins from the series Double Trouble, teen singing sensation Debbie Gibson, or DIRECTV pitch girl Heather O’Rourke, they all meant something.

Wow. Three dead celebrity references in one intro. Am I that much of a morbid hack? Anyway…

15.  Steffi Graf/Oksana Baiul

Isn’t it lame when the first one’s a tie so they can sneak another entry in? Well, we’ll now call this the Sweet 16.

The former here probably sounds a little like bestiality, and the latter like I’m a pedophile, but my oh-so-brief stints as fans of their respective sports was due to these lovely gals. Graf, the half-brother of late Police Academy star David Graf, cleaned up nicely back in the day, and Baiul was an adorable 16-year-old Ukraine chick who made everyone forget about Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan at the 1994 Winter Olympics. This makes her only three and a half years younger than me. So shut up.

By the time Anna Kournikova and Maria Sharpova showed up, I couldn’t have cared less about tennis. As for figure skating, that Sasha Cohen is a cute one, especially in that Borat movie.

Where are they now? - No idea.

14.  Ellen DeGeneres

This was to a much lesser extent than any of the others on this list. But, just as I do today with the likes of Sarah Silverman, Tina Fey and Nikki Glaser, I loved funny women who are also a bit cute. Creepy as it sounds, I was probably the first Ellen fan. This was when she was on a FOX sitcom called Open House and had her first half-hour HBO One Night Stand. She was kind of attractive back then. She was! And very funny. Seriously!

Where are they now? - Read a magazine, for Pete’s sake

13.  Sylvia Plath

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Poetess, author, and a verb for shoving your head in an oven, Sylvia, born in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, was every boy’s dream: smart, beautiful, and out of her freaking mind.

Yes, in my dark period I was obsessed with Ms. Plath. Some might say I still am. Her awesome, and only, novel “The Bell Jar” was made into a movie in the late 70s, and the lovely Gwenyth Paltrow played her in a biopic, aptly titled Sylvia. She’s number 13 because women married to Ted Hughes found out just how unlucky he was, as Ted’s second wife also killed herself in 1968.

Where are they now? - Still dead

12.  Elizabeth Montgomery

Tell me Jeannie was sexier and I’ll tear your arm off.

Star of one of the greatest situation comedies of all time, Bewitched, Lizzie was every man’s dream: smart, sexy, and a frigging witch. A young Liz made numerous TV appearances prior to this classic, including “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” “The Untouchables,” and “The Twilight Zone.” She would later star as Lizzie Borden in “The Legend of Lizzie Borden.”

Where are they now? - Also still dead

11.  Dian Parkinson

When I was a mere pre-teen I would watch “The Price is Right” every day during school vacation. Mommy thought it was because I loved Plinko or watching a yodeling mountaineer fall off a cliff.

No, it was Dian.

A full six years older than my own mother, Dian was the sexy “Price is Right” goer who went on to appear in Playboy and sue Bob Barker for sexual harrassment, prompting many a hack comedian to go to the “spayed or neutered” joke.

Where are they now? - Who cares?

If this list isn’t complete shite so far, stay tuned for Parts 2 and 3, and the Top 10 coming soon…

LOL@McCain has put together some of the better LOL-cat-style mockups of shots from the debates online… and I enjoyed a good portion of them (not because of a preference for or against McCain, just cause they were pretty damn funny).

Actually a lot of the best ones were about Palin, here’s a sampling, but be sure to check out the full page:

Break it Down Blog did a piece early this year called “There Are No Ugly Women” and then pointed at 9 before-and-after shots of contestants from the show The Swan.

The results are incredible.

Every woman that started off as “unhelp-able” in my limited capacity to judge this type of stuff, ended up looking at least “beautiful” and at most “hot” by the time the show was done with them.

This brings me to the recent snaps of European super model Kate Moss at Halloween:

It is pretty incredible what some makeup, a cute outfit and a damn good photographer can do for you. Consider a typical Kate Moss shot:

… quite a bit of difference some airbrushing can make, no?

So next time you look in the mirror and get critical of yourself, cut yourself some slack… no one looks like this*

* I do sometimes, but don’t beat yourself up… it is abnormal how good-looking I am. I’ve actually killed elderly people that have caught a sideways glance at me without proper preparation.

John McCain Accidentally Left on the Campaign Bus Overnight

Cindy McCain Claims She’s “Just Like Any Other Female Human”

Thanks goes to Preston Lee for sending these in.

I don’t care if you aren’t Clint Eastwood fans, I am making you Eastwood fans because he’s a badass. It’s not that he acts like one… he just is. He can’t help it, it’s in his blood. It’s like asking Stallone in the most recent Rambo to pet a putty and kiss a kitten… he wouldn’t know how to process what you said, so he’d probably just punch a hole through your stomach and out your back.

What happens when you get a grizzled old man that is an ex-war vet that is getting more pissed off at his life and then mix that with some punch teenagers that push him? Ohhhh hells yea, that’s right. You get an old-school ass kicking… crazy-old-man-style. Gran Torino:

As American blacks and the white “LOL” generation break out the confetti and party hats over the seemingly inevitable election of the first black president since Bill Clinton, the McCain campaign, after having another one of their “What the hell did we do?” meetings over the Arizona senator’s ridiculous VP choice, has discovered an interesting new concept. It’s called the Bradley Effect.

Named after the late 60 Minutes newsman Ed Bradley, the Bradley Effect was invented by a small group of MIT students over a bong and a game of Connect Four in 1906. It says the white guy must win, for example Emmy-winning actor Bradley Whitford, who beat out men of all colors for his award.

In 2004, physicist Ashton Kutcher further studied the Bradley Effect to determine that a seemingly simple change can cause unexpected bigger changes in the future - for example Minnie Lou Bradley and her trailblazing for women in livestock breeding, or, of course, Marty McFly’s trip back to 1955.

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But just how does the McCain campaign effectively utilize, or use, this so-called Bradley Effect? One way, says strategist Algernon Leary, is to gather every Obama supporter and shoehorn them into the Bradley Center in Milwaukee and Bradley International Airport in Connecticut and hold them prisoner until after the election.

“That’s what must be done,” Leary said. “Else there’s no effect in Bradley.”

Another possible use of the BE, as they call it on the street, is to distract the young Obama supporters with games like Candyland and Uncle Wiggly.

“They’re pretty simple, these Obamanaics,” said Fatty Holepoke, commissioner of such games. “We have boxes and boxes of Battleship, Simon and Scattergories all ready to be shipped around the country.”

When asked how effective the BE is, most were perplexed by the question.

“No, we’re the Bradley Method,” said Eileen Bradley of Sydney, Australia. “You know, controlling the weeds in the bushland?”

“That store closed years ago,” said a man who used to shop at Bradlees.

“I think it has to do with a governor or something,” said former NBA center Shawn Bradley. “Now scram.”

Hugh Bradley was the first player to hit a home run at Fenway Park. He had nothing to say because he’s dead.

Whatever the Bradley Effect is, can it keep the white man streak alive in the Presidency? And, if so, what if John McCain drops dead while in office? Ironically, this would be called the Fred Sanford Effect.

We’ve all seen The Dark Knight by now, yes?. If you haven’t there something wrong with you. It’s a rare occurrence for me nowadays, going to see the motion pictures, what with the ass-raping that is ticket and food prices. But how can anyone not be a part of the phenomenon that is The Dark Knight? Christian Bale, and the new great director of our time Christopher Nolan, have resurrected the franchise. And Heath Ledger’s impeccably-timed death has turned the film from just another great movie into perhaps the greatest film ever made. Thank you, Mary-Kate Olsen!

Fans and critics everywhere have lauded Ledger’s performance as nothing short of genius. Indeed, perhaps he was so into his role as The Joker that it drove him mad and he was just feasting on pills like Elvis - Stojko, the Canadian figure skating champion. Boy, can that fella knock down the yellow submarines!

While I did enjoy Ledger’s portrayal immensely, I could very well see from where he obtained his inspiration.

Ledger’s Joker seems, at first, a tremendous homage to the first film Batman, Michael Keaton, and his role as Beetlejuice in the appropriately titled Beetlejuice, and then, perhaps, many of the roles Johnny Depp has played, from Sam in Benny & Joon to Captain Jack in the Pirates of the Caribbean series. Oh, wait a silly goose that Johnny is! And so sexy!

But there was more.

I was amazed to see a little bit of Al Franken’s Saturday Night Live character Stuart Smalley in Ledger’s performance, which gave me a new appreciation for how creepy Franken’s character really was.

Could the late Mr. Michelle Williams have studied this wonderfully zany SNL character played by the arch nemesis of Bill O’Reilly?

But then came the true genius in the character. Ledger’s Joker seemed to have been borrowed freely from the one place where the acting always gets knocked - professional wrestling.

Any fan will tell you that some of the greatest villains, or heels, in pro wrestling history are very apparent in the central villain of The Dark Knight. The laughter, the absolute madness, it all seemed derivative of classic wrestling heels like “Rowdy” Roddy Piper in the mid-80s, and Cactus Jack of the early to mid-90s.

This, however, is still merely the tip of the Joker iceberg, because by the end of the film it was clear to me that Ledger had spent many hours viewing the matches and interviews of one wrestler in particular: Doink the Clown.

Fans of Vince McMahon’s World Wrestling Entertainment of the 90s should remember that prior to the Doink character’s ill-advised baby face (or good guy) turn in 1994, Doink was an evil, evil clown, always laughing and just making an incredible amount of trouble for everyone. Over the years there were many wrestlers who portrayed Doink, but from ‘92 to ‘94 it was a man named Matt Borne who pretty much created the gimmick and played the role wonderfully. It was this Doink, I believe, that Ledger studied.

So, when the time comes, and Ledger is posthumously given the Academy Award for Best Actor next March, I declare that it should be “Maniac” Matt Borne who accepts the award on Heath’s behalf, says, “Well done, Mr. Ledger!” as he points to the Heavens, and then bashes the presenter, hopefully Adam Sandler, over the head with the trophy and proceeds to kick and punch him in classic heel style, maybe even getting a chair shot or two on him.

For this is how the Joker should be remembered.

A lot of women out there think that plastic surgery is a quick-fix for trouble spots… it’s not… it’s so not.

While I can certainly understand getting cosmetic surgery after years of trying to get rid of something that bothers you or enhance something that you cannot live with out, I would never agree that it’s a good first step.

More specifically I think liposuction is a bad choice. All that stabbing and prodding around, tearing up all that connective tissue that keeps your skin stuck to your fat and muscle so it at least looks natural.

You go ripping around inside your body with a big metal pole, tearing that stuff up and you end up with cascading flows of skin.

I think more women saw an after picture of what you end up looking like, they might either be happy with what they had or try diet/exercise with a bit more gusto…. so there you go, here’s Tara Reid… take a good look at her.

I don’t even think a lot of people remember what Reid looked like before she got addicted to plastic surgery and drinking alcohol instead of water.

We remember… we remember everything. This is what Tara Reid used to look like:

Easily classified as a petite-hottie. We aren’t sure why she felt obligated to wreck herself on plastic surgery and booze, but we’re sure it had something to do with self-loathing.

So that’s our PSA for the day… if you need plastic surgery, go for it, but if you can live without it, or are on the fence about it… stare at Tara longer… we’re pretty sure you’ll decide to skip it for now.

Alaskan governor and actual VP candidate Sarah Palin dropped the ceremonial first puck at a game between the Philadelphia Flyers and the New York Rangers last weekend and was not only booed by the Philly fans, but checked into the boards by several Flyers players.

But the joke was on her anyway, as it wasn’t a puck she was holding, but one of the urinal cakes from the mens rooms.

The world famous hockey mom/teen pregnancy mom/Downs mom, who nearly played Marge Gunderson in the Coen Brothers film Fargo, marched her entire family onto the cold, slippery ice as fans hurled moose parts and borscht at them.

Palin responded by shouting, “But I’m a hockey mom!” and “I said thanks, but no thanks to the bridge to nowhere!” and “Lipstick!” Yet the fans kept booing, even when Palin’s husband Tom Arnold hijacked a zamboni and raced it around the rink.

During the third period, some Russian player scored his third goal of the night, thus making a hat trick, and one fan grabbed little Trig Palin and tossed him onto the ice.

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The adorable Philadelphia fans, in the past, have booed Santa Claus and handicapped children, and even cheered injured former Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Michael Irvin before he was carried off the field on a stretcher. So Palin’s people were shocked by the reception she was given. Of course, the biggest shock in this story is that hockey still exists. Most Americas thought Palin was a bit looney with her “hockey mom” business, but this incident serves as proof that there is still hockey in the U.S., even in a legitimate city like the City of Brotherly Love.

In other sports news, staying with the Cradle of Liberty, those daffy bastards could very well be enjoying their first World Series in 15 years, where they will beat the shit out of fans wearing the opposing team’s gear and send death threats to any Phillies player who fucks up, a la Mitch Williams. But they deserve it for having the name of a female horse.

A team the Phillies could be facing in the Series is the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. With the success of rookie third baseman Evan Longoria, the D-Rays will spend the off season looking to sign more players with male versions of the names of Desperate Housewives cast members. Team scouts are on the lookout for players named Terrence Hatcher, Felix Huffman, Marc Cross, Nicholas Sheridan and Dan Delany. Meanwhile, the team’s winning 2008 season put to rest rumors that they would be changing their name to the Tuberculosis Devil Rays.

Also during the baseball off season, executives will meet to determine whether announcers should stop using the term “flied” to indicate what a player might have done to left field, instead of the proper English word “flew.” After all, says commissioner Ty Cobb, you wouldn’t say, “I flied to Detroit last week, then flied back to hell.”

Not too shabby… Britney’s new video, Womanizer, has semblances of the original Brit-Brit we all fell in love with 30 years ago… or whenever that was that we fell in love with her.

I guess she was like 14 back then and now she’s 50, but she is looking pretty good. This is more along the lines of “slut-face Britney” that she turned into after good-girl Britney wasn’t selling so many records. So still appealing, but no more Sunday church for her here.

Check it out:

I love the news. I really LOVE the news:

7-year-old gets stuck in stuffed animal game machine

SHEBOYGAN (AP) — A 7-year-old boy had to be rescued with the help of a locksmith Saturday after crawling into a supermarket’s stuffed animal game machine while his father talked on the telephone.

Man Arrested After Reporting Pot Theft

McALLEN, Texas - A man was arrested for drug possession after telling authorities that two masked gunmen had stolen 150 pounds of marijuana from his home.

…Etc.

I didn’t used to love the news. In fact, even being a Journalism major, I would avoid it like the fat kid with man boobs avoids a balanced diet and excercise… because he has a thyroid problem.

I figured if I was out to save the world (as we all are in college, right?), I couldn’t let myself get beat down before I even began with the endless tales of terror and hopelessness. I opted instead to think of puppies and music and butterflies, and go about my merry way saving the world one person at a time.

Now that I’ve been smacked down by the hand of the man (as we all are after college, right?) and smashed into a swivel chair behind a computer screen clocking in and out according to someone else’s sense of reason and time for a lamentably disproportionate portion of my life… reality has settled in.

While I do have a window in my “office”, it is a window that looks out smack onto the side of the neighboring house. Yes, a never-changing view of that good old Arizona construction necessity: STUCCO.

But.

BUT!!! I also have CNN.com!!! And on CNN.com you get stories - headlines around the world, mind you - like THIS!

Playboy’s Hugh Hefner, girlfriend call it quits

But…but they looked so HAPPY together!

I mean if that’s not a match that’s meant to be, then I don’t know what is.

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Apparently though, it was news to our 28-year-old blond bombshell, when the Playboy mogul told her they “would never wed or have children”.

Children??! I know you’re a “model/actress” (whatever THAT is), but try to stay with me here honey. Take your head off tilt for a second and maybe it will be easier for me to level with you.

82, sweetheart. Eighty. Two. Most 82-year-olds have dialysis machines in their radar, not plans for little ‘uns. You’re called a TRO-PHY. But seeing as how you’re one in a million, and not in a good way, the title ends there. At least some “omg!” girls get the full Trophy WIFE title, but you, hun, well…let’s let Pappy speak on the matter:

“It’s now apparent there will be some new faces in my personal life and on the show,” he said. “There’s been moments that I’ve been down in the dumps about all this, and (personal assistant) Mary (O’Connor) told me to cheer up and pointed out that there are girls lined up outside the front gate. At my age, that’s hard to believe, but it seems to be true.”

Good ol’ CNN reports that “the Playboy mogul expects to maintain a business relationship and friendship with Madison, who — along with Marquardt — originally was one of seven girlfriends living with Hefner in 2001 after his separation from Kimberley Conrad. Wilkinson was later asked to move into the Playboy Mansion in 2004. Hefner said he may again seek out seven — or more — girlfriends.

“It’s a big house,” he said. “And I’m not going to live alone. I’m definitely not going to live alone.” ”

That’s right, Hugh. Keep it, er…up.

Editor’s Note

I would like to take this chance to extend my deepest regrets to Holly Madison and wish her the best.

I would additionally like to say that I will marry you… I will marry the shit out of you.

You want kids? I’ll have 10 kids with you… I will freaking carry the kids to term and shove them out of my urethra. I’m committed to making this relationship work Holly.

I am prepared to do all of this because you seem… smart… really really smart. And I like intelligent, caring, accomplished boobs booooooobs boobs boobs bOOOObs women.

Besides marrying you, I will also give you first dibs any movies from my movie collection and allow you to touch my boxed Boba Fett and Han Solo Star Wars collectibles without wearing protective anti-static gloves.

In order to get the ball rolling on our new marriage agreement, I’ve FedEx’ed you a box of paperwork to sign along with a zip-lock bag full of my own blood and hair samples. Please enjoy this gift.

I can tell this is going to work out really well.

Sincerely,

The UMOA Editor

In smarmy pseudo-comedian Bill Maher’s new rockumentary with a title no one should even try to pronounce, the star of such films as Pizza Man and Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death finally has the proof that intellectual douchebags have been looking for for years that there is indeed no God.

Maher and director Larry Charles circumnavigated the globe, interviewing people who love God, people who think they are God, even the idiots who can’t stop saying that “God” backwards is “Dog,” and none could produce any evidence to the balding, grey Cryptkeeper Maher of God’s existence.

Ergo, Maher says, no God.

Maher proceeds to say in the film that all U.S. currency should now read, “In Some Asshole We Trust,” and that the Naziesque “Gesundheit” should forever replace “God bless you” when one sneezes. Also Christmas should become “Shitty Present Day.”

In his next film, The Pope’s a Pussy, Maher will fight Pope Benedict XVI in a steel cage match, then shit on an Italian hoagie bearing a striking resemblance to the Virgin Mary, and, in the final scene, Maher and author Richard Dawkins will engage in anal sex, each getting the chance to pitch and catch, while both shout, “Oh, No One! Oh, No One! Give it to me! Yes! Oh, No One!”

Dave Bullock is on a roll today, sending in this little tid-bit of awesome from L.A.’s Craigslist. Looks like someone in the adult industry is looking for a Sarah Palin look-a-like to shoot a movie in the next 10 days… for $3k… guess who just found his Tina Fey glasses, put on his sluttiest dress and has a giant dong? That’s right, Saruh Paylen… that’s my stage name, thanks for asking:

On a rainy weekend, possibly just weeks, perhaps days before his death, the Boston Red Sox finally decided to retire Johnny Pesky’s number. Ole Numero Six was a member of the organization off and on, in one way or another, for about 150 years. The team even named a foul pole in Fenway Park after the man with the unfortunate nickname of “The Needle,” as payback for his hesitating on a throw in 1946 that cost the Sox the World Series. But now they’ve given him the ultimate kudos.

Pesky joins Carlton Fisk, Carl Yastrzemski, the frozen head of Ted Williams, and a couple of other guys no one alive has ever heard of (though neither are believed to have been named any version of “Carl”) as players whose number the Sox have retired.

With the team becoming more lax with the number retiring, focus has now shifted to who in the Sam Hill might be next. This attention has gone not to Tony Conigliaro, Jim Rice or Rey Quinones, but to 11-year Sox vet Dominic DiMaggio, brother of legendary New York Yankee player and Marilyn Monroe nailer Joe DiMaggio. But fans in Beantown are saying, “Thanks, but no thanks, Dominic, you Italian Christmas donkey, you.”

In later years the Red Sox would sign players like Mike Maddux and Jeremy Giambi, the Don Swayze and Frank Stallone of their respective families. If there was a Zeppo Yastrzemski, you can bet your sweet bippy he would have been on the team and Carl would have been playing elsewhere. So Dominic is no more welcome on the Fenway wall of fame than Roger Clinton or Rufus Obama.

Polls in the Boston area reveal that fans would rather see the team retire the number of pitcher Clarence Blethen, who played just five games for the Sox way back in 1923. Blethen was perhaps known most for once sliding into a base with his false teeth in his back pocket, and being injured when he, yes - bit himself on the ass.

So clearly, as good a player as Dommy D was, he wasn’t “Joltin’” and he was nobody’s “Clipper.” Paul Simon never asked where Dominic went. In fact, I’m not sure if brother Joe even cared where this non-Hall of Famer scurried off to. (FYI - The Dommer will be 92 years young in February!)

The truly laughable part of all this is that Vince DiMaggio - the third brother, the Shemp, of the DiMaggio family - began his career with the Boston Bees. Legend has it that Carmine “Three Fingers” DiMaggio never made it to the Majors because he just couldn’t hold a bat.

So, piss off, Dom DiMaggio. The Sox have chicken man/hair transplant pusher/Margo Adams’ favorite ballplayer Wade Boggs’ number to retire next year. Not to mention perhaps maybe someday that of steroid king and alleged statuary rapist Roger Clemens. And if the Sox are going to retire the number of a player with a Yankee name, it’ll be Curt Schilling’s son Gehrig.

If he doesn’t just sit around his cell all day singing “Garbage Dump” and he actually reads a newspaper now and then, Charles Manson could very well be laughing his swastika-carved ass off right now. For “Helter Skelter,” ole crazy’s 1969 vision of a Revelations-like war between black and white America, just might come into fruition, regardless of who wins the presidential election in November.

As silly geese on both sides debate which candidate has jack squat for experience and which is going to die in office, a delicious product called “Obama Waffles” was being shopped around at the 2008 Values Voter Summit somewhere in the South last week. And liberals everywhere have called the gag racist.

Mind you, “waffle” means “a crisp cake of batter baked in a waffle iron.” So there’s hardly any racism there, unless you make the batter out of Swedes like my grammy used to cook ‘em. But there’s also the verb, “to waffle,” meaning “to flip-flop.” Here it refers to important political issues, such as gun control and leaving the toilet seat up.

Of course, guilt ridden liberals can find racism in a 10k. I don’t know what that means, but one need only utter the phrase “nappy headed ho” to see the truth in this statement. Not only is the Obama caricature on this box a problem, but waffles are only a few tasty steps away from Aunt Jemima, the uppity syrup peddler everyone loves to hate. Yet, none of these sensitive souls saw the double meaning of a black man standing behind a sign reading “Change.” That’s called “selective racism,” if you ask me.

If Reagan had the zany Alzheimer’s jokes, and Clinton was the tubby womanizer, and if Bush is an idiot and Hitler, for Pete’s sake, then Obamanians should be able to handle the theme from The Jeffersons as their campaign song and a little caricaturing here and there. If Bush can be drawn to look like Alfred E. Newman, then why shouldn’t Obama look like the trinket of the black boy eating a watermelon I bought at the town fair last spring? Otherwise, this could be a rough four to eight years. There will be a lot of walking on eggshells, both white and brown. Vogue couldn’t even get away with putting LeBron James on its cover with a white woman earlier this year without people shouting “King Kong!”

Obama forgave Joe Biden for saying in 2007 - and obviously Joe was forgetting about men like Colin Powell, Jimmy Walker, and Shaft - “You got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that’s a storybook, man,” then not only should political cartoonists not have to fear for their futures, but everyone from Michael Richards to Jimmy the Greek should be forgiven and embraced as well.

After all, Barack can just brush all of it off knowing that his mother is a cracker from Kansas and he grew up in Hawaii helping Tom Selleck solve crimes.

The biggest story entering the 2008 NFL season has been Brett Favre being a big pain is the ass with his, “I’m retiring. No I’m not,” business in Green Bay. Now the crybaby is with the Jets, like stars Joe Namath and Riff from West Side Story before him. Great. Good luck, stupid. Here’s hoping for a Pro Bowl season from Aaron Rogers.

But the horse’s ass award easily goes to Cincinnati Bangles wide receiver Chad Ocho Cinco, formerly Chad Johnson. Johnson, who wears number 85, has been referring to himself by the name “Ocho Cinco” for quite a while, but has now gone off the deep end by wanting to officially change his name, a la wrestler The Ultimate Warrior. Not at all learning from former NBA star Dennis Rodman’s brief stint as “Orgasm” years ago, Groucho Ringo continues to make a spectacle of himself. Should we expect to see Mr. Mucho Dingo in Vince McMahon’s WWE soon?

Tinkle Tinkle requested a trade during the off season, but Bangles GM Susanna Hoffs didn’t bite. WKRP reported that after the Reds traded away both Adam Dunn and Ken Griffey Jr this summer, the Queen City’s pseudo-football team wasn’t about to let Bango Tango whine his way out of Cincy. And the NFL has now said Johnson cannot have Flamenco Buttafuoco or any other bizarre name of the back of his jersey. But I say let him do it. Give him the name. Then the Bangles should go ahead and trade him. Trade the freak for a bucket of Gatorade to a team on which the number 85 is completely unavailable. The Detroit Lions and St. Louis Rams have retired the number. Send him there and teach him a lesson, with the stupid name Ocho Cinco on his jersey and the number 185 underneath it.

Johnson had only one reception in the first game of the season for the Bangles. That’s one more than I got and I was at home watching another game. So not only can’t Uno Receptio use his silly name, but he’s on pace for a whopping 16 catches this season. It’ll be a hazy shade of winter in Cincinnati this year.

Generally speaking, I don’t spend a whole lot of time waxing political.  I think the subject is boring and I would rather talk about lip gloss.  That being said, what the hell is with this Sarah Palin trick?

Seriously, she is being touted as a maverick that’s going to bring a little spice to the McCain campaign, but is she?  I don’t think so.

I think maybe he just pulled her name out of a random politician generator, or perhaps he lost a bet…who knows, but this bitch is the LAST person I want to see “a heartbeat away” from being the boss of me and everyone else in the United States.

First, I don’t like the looks of her.  She looks exactly like everyone’s worst boss.  You know, that bitch who was nice to your face, but then turned around and started some shitty rumor about your attitude and singlehandedly and permanently shitcanned your chances of ever getting promoted, and THEN had the umitigated gaul to ask you, “how ARE you?” the next time she saw you.

Second, I don’t trust her.  I was reading up on her on Wikipedia, and it mentions that her nickname in high school was “Sarah Barracuda” in the same sentence as it mentions that she was the team prayer leader.  That must have gone something like this…”God, please let the other team die, or at least lose and get diarrhea and syphilis.  Amen.”

In addition to coming across as an untrustworthy liar, the sum total of her political experience is just slightly less impressive than the assistant mine inspector of East Jesus Nowhere.  Elephants are pregnant longer than she’s been governor of Alaska.

{smartads}

In true vaginal style, she seems to thrive on conflict.  After landing the mayoral gig in Asscrack, Alaska (at the suggestion of some ladies from the PTA), she pretty much fired every city employee on the grounds that they did not support her politically, and she instituted a policy that required her approval before anyone under her in the chain of command could speak to members of the press.  I guess only CERTAIN constitutional amendments are worth acknowledging…primarily those that involve firearms.

Had anyone been able to pry the gun from her cold, manicured hand, she might have noticed that her daughter was playing “swallow the sausage” with Cletus the Slack-jawed Yokel and, as you already know, is five months pregnant with his young’n.  I think it’s a wonderful testament to the importance of family unity and values that Sarah Palin threw her pregnant, underage daughter under the gnashing wheels of the scandal bus in order to save her own ass…”You SEE, Trig CAN’T be Bristol’s son because she was ALREADY PREGNANT when he was BORN!”  She just wasn’t going to mention that slight detail until… *counts on fingers*… a few months AFTER the election.

Furthermore, does anyone want to give control of this nation to someone with children named Track, Bristol, Willow, Piper, and Trig?  I rest my case.

I make it no secret that I am an Obama girl, and I think the fact that McCain chose Palin as his running mate shows poor discretion and judgment as well as being a hasty attempt at gaining market share with the lady voters.  Frankly, I would rather have Penn and Teller running the country than McCain and Palin.

God bless America.  Vote for Obama.

Senator John McCain, the gruff Republican presidential hopeful, Vietnam veteran, and maker of delicious food products such as Pizza Pockets and many great frozen potato-based snacks, finally chose his running mate on Friday. And it is Alaska governor Sarah Palin, believed to be a cousin or perhaps niece of Monty Python funnyman Michael Palin. And conservatives around the country lost their shit upon hearing the news.

Conservative radio host Sean Hannity claimed to be “literally jazzed,” as old black men played trumpets and saxophones all over his studio on Friday, and host Laura Ingraham reportedly had the cancer vanish from her body completely when she was told Palin was McCain’s pick.

For the rest of us, other than being reminded that, oh yeah, Alaska is indeed one of our states, we are left asking, “Who is this Sarah Palin?” Well, since you asked, Mr. Pushy Pants, Governor Palin is, first and foremost, a former beauty queen and champion athlete. So, if you ever wanted Maria Sharapova as vice-president, this is as close to that wet dream as you will ever come, pervert. But don’t get any ideas because her hubby is a world champion snow machine racer, which I guess means either Zambonis or Snoopy Sno-Cone Machines, but I don’t know how you’d race those. I guess it’s who can make the Sno-Cone the fastest.

Palin reportedly has an 80 percent approval rating in her home state. What this means, who knows? Blubber and daylight probably have the same approval rating in Alaska. She also sounds far too much like Saturday Night Live alum Julia Sweeney when she speaks to be taken seriously.

But enough about her. It was announced this weekend that Palin’s daughter Bristol, named after either the race track in Tennessee or the cigarette brand (It’s hard to tell, as she has a son named Track, but also two other daughters named Kool and Eve Ultra Lights), is pregnant at the tender age of 17, and apparently the Eskimo or caribou that knocked her up intends to marry her. What a stand-up fella!

The angle in this VP choice is that Republicans believe Palin will bring the Hilary supporters to the dark side (not literally - this dark side would be McCain). Surely, McCain supporters have said, these gals will blindly follow anyone without a penis. Hell, put Andrea Yates or Squeaky Fromme on the ticket and these dizzy broads will line up and vote for her twice.

This will all lead to a mixed tag team Vietnamese cage match of Barack and Michelle Obama versus McCain and Palin sometime in October. Experts say the winner of this bout will most likely win the election in November.

Why won’t *Nsync get back together?  I love *Nsync.

Notice that I didn’t say, “I LOVED *Nsync.”

I realize that is a bold admission from someone wishing to be taken seriously…well…at ALL, but hear me out.  When *Nsync was on top of their game, cranking out their wonderfully gooey brand of soft-core pop ejaculate, I was missing my youth terribly - m