A second smattering...

As I sit in my apartment, waiting for Hurricane Hanna remnants to shower me with local debris and tip my building over, I can’t stop thinking about the horrible green screen behind Sen. John McCain showing Walter Reed Middle School instead of Walter Reed Army Medical Center. What moronic, GOP-wanking shit stain couldn’t quite negotiate the turns of his stupidity in time for his brilliant leader’s biggest moment? Probably the same Log Cabin Republican who designed the phallus-shaped stage.


Is it me or does it seem odd that Nascar has an official cracker? Apparently Ritz has the honor. I figured it was Dale Earnhardt Jr.


Remember when “tell-all” books shared secrets we’ve been dying to know? Anything revealed at this point about Bush’s administration requires more of a “tell-us-what-we-don’t-know” -type of tome. Madonna’s brother couldn’t have sold more tickets for her if he made a commercial instead. As for what has been in Barbara Walters’ vagina? One word: yuck. No offense to Barbara, but once you reach the legal age of Werther’s Originals distribution, folks will no longer find your fond memories of sexual exploits intriguing. Instead they will spend the rest of the day searching for their lost libidos and appetites.


I think love is exciting and magical. I also think green-tinted bowel movements after a Boo Berry and Purplesaurus Rex bender are exciting and magical. I have experienced both this year.


If girls develop faster than boys, why are we still subjected to poor adult female role models? Perhaps the grading curve ends in 7th grade. Either that or men own the cameras snapping their exploits. I have my personal feelings about how society has turned the desirable and worthy, power-wielding female species into attention seeking, insecure, foul mouthed bags of need, but that is for another blog.
My point is no matter how hard I partied I was never as ridiculous a spectacle as the tabloid queens of the televised world. Now, I’m not going to pretend for a minute I know what "life in a fish bowl" is like, but that is what makes it all the more disgusting. Take your reality-blurring vapidness away from the flashbulbs. Last thing I want is my niece growing up thinking these twats are even remotely noteworthy.
And has anyone noticed that no man in Hollywood ever gets smashed, technicolor yawns on a dumpster outside of Hyde, then falls ass-over-head into the backseat of an Excursion exposing his poorly hidden genitalia? I guess Americans won’t pay enough to see it.