And The Emmy Goes To...

... Jim Parsons... I hope.

The statistical probability of the Academy nominating the right people for television's most prestigious award is astronomical but Parsons aka Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory somehow managed to beat the odds.

He's great. This Christmas themed clip proves why he so richly deserves his Best Actor nod.

1...2...3 Strikes You're Out At The All-Star Game

First strike: Our "cool" President walks out to the mound wearing jean "slacks" that could have been purchased from the back of TV Guide. I've seen third-world dictators wear hipper pants.

Second strike: Obama made a victorious fist pump after nearly one-hopping the ball to the plate. Talk about looking like the "Special Olympics or something."

Third strike: In a post-game interview, the alleged White Sox Fan-In-Chief called his old stadium Cominskey instead of Comiskey.

It was an all-around embarrassing performance.

The folks at Busch stadium booed POTUS when he was introduced. The Spinmeisters attribute the less-than-friendly reception to nothing more than Cardinals' fans reacting poorly to a man wearing a White Sox jacket (no doubt bought at Cominskey).

As Obama's approval ratings continue to fall (currently hovering at 57%... can less than 50% be far behind?) I predict he will spend the rest of his term feeling like a White Sox fan at Busch stadium. Or worse, he'll be treated like a fake White Sox fan at Cellular Field.

Catty

According to LiveScience.com, cats control humans.

If you've ever wondered who's in control, you or your cat, a new study points to the obvious. It's your cat.

Household cats exercise this control with a certain type of urgent-sounding, high-pitched meow, according to the findings.

This meow is actually a purr mixed with a high-pitched cry. While people usually think of cat purring as a sign of happiness, some cats make this purr-cry sound when they want to be fed. The study showed that humans find these mixed calls annoying and difficult to ignore.

According to TraciSkene.com (that would be me), cats only control humans who are pussies.

I've owned two cats in my life (yes, PETA I said owned... I wasn't their companion, I was their owner) and I had no problem picking them off my face at 5 AM, opening the door and tossing them into the hallway.

Oh sure, one of them would take revenge by using the bathtub as a litter box but I attributed her bad behavior to stupidity rather than malice. Mostly because she would use the bathtub as a litter box even if she was fed on her preferred schedule. In fact, she thought I was the idiot for showering where she liked to go to the bathroom.

Dogs, on the other hand, will drive you nuts if they don't get their way. Canines have much more control over humans than felines because of their incredible talent for barking. I can ignore the plaintive purrs of a kitty but if a terrier yaps at me for ten minutes I will do anything-- anything-- to make it stop. Suddenly, I become the bad parent in the check-out aisle who buys a toddler a candy bar just to make the screams go away.

Most people are either cat people or dog people. I'm both... and neither. I love animals but I also love to wear black clothing that isn't covered in fur. Someday, when I stop traveling and start wearing baby blue polyester pants, I will own another pet. But I'll also own earplugs because no animal is the boss of me.

Video Not-On-Demand

Last fall, hubby and I were given the opportunity to put together a couple of business oriented humor videos for WallStreetJournal.com which, is funny in itself, since our bank account proves that we know very little about business.

We wrote, directed and edited the two-minute pieces which were shot in the corner of our livingroom. Nothing ever came of the assignment (besides a freelance paycheck) but we had fun making them.

The first one makes fun of WSJ.com programming. The second one mocks a report about the airline industry.

Doin' The Butt

I don't know what's creepier, Obama looking at the girl's ass or Sarkozy looking at Obama looking at the girl's ass. Does he want a threesome... or a troisome?

I think my husband won the caption contest when he said, " "Oh, yeah, I'd tax that... er tap that."



This morning ABC, the All Barack Channel, tried to restore the president's reputation by showing video which shows POTUS checking his footing not checking out the underage rump. Through their giggling, the GMA hosts do Robert Gibbs' job by pointing out the French Prime Minister has the roving eye, not our guy.

But all it proves is that Barack is a bit more subtle than his French counterpart. Clearly, Obama is multi-tasking. It's the cooler equivalent of a man bending over to pick something up just so he can look up a woman's dress.

As always, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up-- and, apparently, he liked the way her cover-up caressed her larger-than-normal backside.

Yesterday, I laughed at the photo. Today, I'm upset by the spin.

Yesteray, Obama looked at an ass. Today, he defenders are making him look like an ass.

You Change That Shirt Right Now, Young Lady!

It is absolutely inappropriate for an 11-year-old daughter of the President of the United States to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with a political statement while strolling about in another country. Actually, it's absolutely inappropriate for her to wear it in this country as well.

It's not a mere peace sign she's modeling, it's the logo for an anti-nuke group Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Now, of course, I'm assuming that President Obama agreed with Putin to reduce the stockpile of nuclear weapons merely because he was afraid of getting a raft of shit from Malia.



I don't want my President getting political pressure, subtle or otherwise, from his pre-teen kids. Plus I don't want the rest of the world thinking that the leader of the free world is kiddie-whipped.

I would feel this way if she was donning a Pro-life shirt, a PETA shirt or a Che Guevera long-sleeved hoody. Doesn't Malia have any leftover Obama/Biden 2008 campaign shirts or $50 J-Crew tanks tops she could wear?

Michael Jackson

I just watched ten seconds of the Michael Jackson Memorial Tribute Battle Of The Musical Stars Concert. It was eight seconds too many.

I think I'll pay tribute to the self-proclaimed King of Pop by dangling a baby over a balcony.

Back in December of 1983, the owner of the Comedy Factory Outlet in Philadelphia hosted a toy giveaway party for a group of underprivileged African-American kids. One of the (African-American) comics thought it would be a good idea to play the Thriller video on the club's large video screen.

It wasn't a good idea. In fact, it was a really bad idea.

The kids cried and cried and cried. Afterwards, we laughed and laughed and laughed.

All those kids would be in their early 30's by now. I wonder if they're mourning Michael? Or are they just thinking about the day when Thriller ruined Christmas.


Here's a great video called Origins of The Moonwalk. Proves that Michael Jackson was not as original as some might believe.

Make-Out Sessions

After watching Episode One of our video series "Lying About: Standup" fellow comic, Lisa Corrao joked that my husband and I looked like we were going to make-out. This was particularly funny to me since my husband and I haven't made-out since 1985.

When Brian and I first started dating, we once made-out for two hours on a bench in Center City Philadelphia. Now, we can't even watch a two hour movie without pausing for a bathroom break.

As you get older, your passion doesn't diminish but you do try to hurry things along because you know eventually you will have to pee. Making love all night long is replaced by a desire to sleep through the night without your bladder waking you up at 4 AM.

Youth isn't necessarily wasted on the young, but robust kidneys certainly are.

God Bless America

I just sat on a dock and watched fireworks being shot from Cooper River. It was like having our own private show.

We had hot dogs for lunch, brisket and corn on the cob for dinner and now hubby is making mango rum smoothies.

I love the 4th of July. I love this country.

I Can See Millions From My House

Perhaps it wasn't the best move for Sarah Palin, the politician, to resign as Governor of Alaska, but for Sarah Palin, the mom, it was the smartest thing she could have done.

The negative press her family has received is unprecedented. She should give a perfectly manicured middle-finger to all those who called her daughter a slut, her husband a knuckle-dragger and her baby-- oh wait, it's not even her baby, right?-- a retard.

Sarah should use her popularity to make millions from publishing and television appearances. As Alaska's head moose, she only made $125,000 per year. As a pundit, she'll make sick money. She could follow in Jessica Simpson's footsteps and design a line of high heel shoes. Revlon could sign her to endorse "Hockey Mom" lipstick. Her speaking fees alone will put her "bastard grandson" through college.

If you're going to be in the public eye, with a bulls-eye on your back, you might as well have a savings account that equals the GDP of a small Latin American country.

Run, Sarah, Run... all the way to the bank.

Dinner Was Mighty Fine, Aunt Bea

I joined a Facebook group started by fellow blogger Eric Gigglechick Bennett called "What I Cooked For Dinner Last Night." After posting for the past week or so, I have concluded that hubby and I eat damn well. In fact, we cook such interesting meals that I fear we may intimidate the other members.

Here's our list so far:

Chicken stuffed with pesto, goat cheese and roasted red peppers.

Chicken burgers with Asian coleslaw.

Filet mignon with ginger/bourbon sauce and roasted asparagus.

Salad with lettuce, chicken, red peppers and mango.

Chicken burgers with bean and corn salad.

Pasta with homemade red sauce (hubby only...pesto for this GERD girl).

Meatball sandwiches. (Yes, homemade meatballs!)

Chicken with cous cous and peach/cucumber salsa.

Not bad for an average week.

When my grandmother was in her 70's she suddenly announced one day that she had cooked her last meal. I hope I never get to that point.

Although, I can see a day in the not-so-distant future when I'll announce that I've cleaned my very last dinner dish.

Karl Malden 1912-2009

According to The Washington Post, "no cause of death was reported." Really? No cause of death? Hmmm, do you think he may have died because he was 97-years-old?!

When a person who is three years away from being 100 passes away, the only time the cause of death should be reported is if it's something unexpected like skydiving or stingray piercing or erotic asphyxiation. Otherwise, we'll just assume it's old age.

Karl Malden was married for 70 years. As Alan King would say, "He was survived by his wife!"

Lying About: Standup

If you have 9:49, check out our very first episode of "Lying About: Standup," entitled, "Is It Too Soon?" in which we discuss, among other things, whether it's too soon for comics to make jokes about the death of Michael Jackson.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 25

I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)

Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.

Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.



Drew Barrymore

Accepted: After she won the potato sack race, Drew refused to give the sack back.

Rejected: She got up from the picnic table and took the tablecloth with her.


Melissa Joan Hart

Accepted: The very first one-woman Disney parade!

Rejected: Hey, Little Miss Muffett! Where's your tuffett?


Carlos Santana

Rejected: He's the scariest ice cream man ever!

Rejected: Apparently, guitar heroes don't own mirrors.

Michael Jaskson

For more than an hour, TMZ was the only "news outlet" reporting the death of Michael Jackson. CNN refused to announce his passing until the LA Times had confirmed the same. TMZ was a victim of blog bias. While they we scooping the majors, MSNBC debated their credibility.

The reports of the main stream media's death may be greatly exaggerated but their demise is inevitable.

In the '80's, I loved Michael Jackson. But then I found out he was a child molester. No amount of album sales or influential videos will ever erase that fact in my mind.

I don't mind hearing about his place in music history but I can't listen to people like Donna Brazile talk about how he was a great humanitarian and caring human being. He was a child molester!

I'm sure his victims are not mourning his loss today.

I know you're not supposed to talk ill of the dead, but you're also not supposed to use innocent children for your own sexual gratification either.

Farrah Fawcett

Farrah Fawcett lost her battle with cancer today at the age of 62.

But this is how she will always be remembered.

Sanford And Son-Of-A-Bitch!

So, South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford wasn't alone during his "alone time" after all. To quote the great philosopher Gomer Pyle, "Surprise! Surprise!"

Gov. Mark Sanford admitted today that his secret trip to Argentina over Father's Day weekend was to visit a woman he is having an affair with.

But, but, but I thought he was hiking the Appalachian Trail!

"I have developed a relationship with what started as a dear dear friend from Argentina. It began very innocently as I expect many of these things do, just casual email back and forth," Sanford said. "But here recently this last year developed into something much more."

Ah, yes, I know how he feels. For months I have been having casual back and forth emails with a very dear friend of mine from Nigeria. He promises to get me lots of money. Oh sure, our relationship is innocent now but I can see it developing into something much more.

Sanford said his wife has known about the affair and they have been working through it for the past five months.

Yes, and she continues to "work through it" by alerting the press to your "mysterious disappearance."

Way to go, Marky Mark.

He didn't need to clear his head, he needed to clear his pipes.

Hot Diggity Dog

Forget about your own backyard BBQ this 4th of July. The swingin'est Independence Day bash will be at the US Embassy. It's going to be RSVPee Your Pants fun!

WASHINGTON (AFP) — The United States said Monday its invitations were still standing for Iranian diplomats to attend July 4 celebrations at US embassies despite the crackdown on opposition supporters.

"Hello, this is Achmed Shamwow calling about the party. What can I bring? Beer? Dessert? Bullets?"

President Barack Obama's administration said earlier this month it would invite Iran to US embassy barbecues for the national holiday for the first time since the two nations severed relations following the 1979 Islamic revolution.

"There's no thought to rescinding the invitations to Iranian diplomats," State Department spokesman Ian Kelly told reporters.

"We have made a strategic decision to engage on a number of fronts with Iran," Kelly said. "We tried many years of isolation, and we're pursuing a different path now."

A path which leads right to the buffet table.

Instead of inviting the Iranian diplomats to our Independence Day festivities maybe we should invite the family of Neda Soltani, the Iranian woman who was shot to death on the streets of Tehran while fighting for her country's freedom. I'm sure they could use a tasty hot dog right about now.

This latest debacle just further proves that with the election of Barack Obama we have put mom in the White House and not dad.

When you're being bullied at school, dad teaches you how to fight. Mom invites the bully to your birthday party and says, "I think you could be friends if you just get to know each other."

Thanks mom. Thanks a whole helluva lot.

Exhaustion

You can be physically exhausted without being mentally exhausted but it's nearly impossible to be mentally exhausted without feeling like you've just run a marathon with Kirstie Alley on your back.

Cue the music to "Wipeout" 'cause I am wiped out!

My dad almost died on Wednesday. At 10 AM, after his surgery was completed, I got the dreaded "things aren't going well" phone call. The only thing I hate worse than the 10 AM "things aren't going well" phone call is the 2 AM "we have bad news" phone call. Sadly, I've experienced both. But I also know there's a substantial difference between "near-death" and "death" so I didn't give up hope. Besides I knew my dad would want to live just so he could yell at his doctors.

By Thursday night, he wasn't quite out of the woods but he could see the clearing. One minute he was on death's door and the next minute he was sitting up sucking on ice chips. The human body is an amazing thing indeed.

Friday, we piled our nephew and former sister-in-law in the car and headed south to Maryland for a charity golf tournament to raise money for our great-nephew's physical therapy. Drinking with the clan-in-laws was exactly what I needed to distract me from my dad's predicament. Hubby and I wound up playing horseshoes with two of our college-aged nephews so for the next two days I hobbled around with "horseshoe ass." (I dare you to go on WebMD and search for horseshoe ass.) Apparently, if you're right-handed, the left cheek plays a crucial role in the throwing of the horse's shoes. The sonofabitch still hurts 3 three days later! (For the record, nephew Danny and I won both games decisively.)

Saturday, my dad was finally home, but relapsing. My stress level was at Def-Con Charlie once again. Since drinking and socializing seemed to help the day before, we piled a friend in the car and headed north to Princeton, New Jersey to see my pal Bonnie McFarlane headline at Catch A Rising Star. She's hilarious both onstage and off. Plus she bought me a glass of cabernet which makes her the best friend ever.

Sunday was Father's Day and I was kicking myself (although not hard because I still had horseshoe ass) for not flying out to Phoenix to be with my father. Friends of ours-- who live only several blocks away but we rarely see-- invited us over for some good food and even better booze. At 10 PM my dad finally felt good enough to talk to me on the phone. When I hung up, the weight of the previous days came crushing down on me like Kirstie Alley if she's behind you at a buffet.

You know, if I wasn't so exhausted I could come up with something better than two Kirstie Alley similes but I'm as tired as Kirstie Alley after Thanksgiving dinner.

Update

My dad is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He's improving but I'm still quite worried.

Top Ten Liberal Guys I'd Hate To Fillibuster

In keeping with the spirit of Playboys' article Top Ten Conservative Women We'd Like To Fillibuster-- also known as the "hate f**k" piece-- I've decided to compile my own list of Top Ten Liberal Guys I'd Hate To Fillibuster -- from now on known as the "hate to f**k" posting. Why should misogynists have all the fun?

(Notice I said "hate to" and not "hate f**k." Big fat stinking difference. Also note that I've been married for 20 years and have no desire to have sex with anybody other than my husband.)

10. Barney Frank: Not wanting to have sex with the Massachusetts Congressman has nothing to do with him being homosexual. (Heck, cougars all across this great land of ours fantasize about AI's Adam Lambert.) I just imagine him to be a very juicy kisser.



Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. Protecting yourself from his saliva storm would mean dressing like you're sitting in the front row of a Gallagher show. Spittle is a turnoff.


9. Al Franken: If I only had one orgasm, the former comic turned almost Senator might demand a recount.

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. I simply couldn't resist the urge to call his penis Stuart Smalley and say, "You're good enough, you're hard enough and, doggone, people like you."


8. Sean Penn: First of all, he had sex with Madonna. Second of all, he had sex with Madonna.

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. He'd probably want to have a threesome with Hugo Chavez.


7. Aaron Sorkin: Can you imagine his rapid-fire dirty talk? Foreplay would take 60 minutes... 42 with commercials.

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. Sex would probably be canceled right before the finale.


6. Al Gore: His favorite pick-up line, "Is it getting hot in here or are you just emitting copious amounts of greenhouse gasses?"



Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. There hasn't been a tree this effeminate since H.R. Pufnstuf was on the air.


5. Joe Biden: Biden wrote the book on love making. Okay, he plagiarized most of it. Here's my impression of any woman-- including his "beautiful wife, Jill"-- having sex with the Vice-President. "Joe, would you just shut the hell up!"

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. Here's my second impression of any woman-- including his "beautiful wife, Jill"-- having sex with the Vice-President. "Yes, yes, I know, Joey's Amtrak train is pulling into the station. Choo choo."


4. Keith Olberman: Might name me "Worst Person In The World" when it's over. Or he would name himself "Worst Person In The World" while he masturbates. Either one is a major turnoff... worse than spittle.

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. Thinks setting the mood includes wine, candles and a videotape of President Obama's inauguration speech.


3. Chris Matthews: See spittle.

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. See spittle.


2. John Cougar Mellencamp: Because I suspect he calls women's vaginas "Little Pink Houses."

Hate To F**k Sex Rating: High. Would refuse tp buy me a Valentine's gift citing materialism and corporate greed. Instead, would write a song for me then sell the rights to a car company for their latest ad campaign.


1. Michael Moore: The next time he goes to Cuba for healthcare he should stop by the duty free shop for a razor and a new hat.



Hate To F**k Sex Rating: Extremely High. I'd rather have sex with Janeane Garofalo.


Of course, the eleventh spot is reserved for Guy Cimbalo, author of the Playboy article. But, I didn't want to honor him by putting him in the Top Ten.

My Advice For Teenage Girls

1. Don't have sex... mostly because teenage boys have no idea what they're doing. Besides, having sex on your parents' couch is only fun after you're married and home for the holidays. Same is true for your parents' closet and the backseat of your parents' car.

2. Don't drink alcohol... mostly because teenage boys have no idea how to make a proper cocktail. Besides, underage, illegal binge drinking usually only leads to bad sex with teenage boys. Plus getting carded is stressful. Not as stressful as not getting carded when you're in your 30's but stressful nonetheless.

3. Enjoy making out! Kissing is so much fun but, once you start having sex, kissing becomes foreplay, so enjoy kissing while kissing is still kissing. Kissing is not teasing. Lap dancing is teasing. Flashing your tits is teasing. Sending X-rated text messages is teasing. Kissing is good old fashioned, lip-chapping fun.

4. Ignore everything a teenage boy tells you unless he's helping you with math. Teenage boys do not have a right brain and a left brain. Teenage boys have a top brain and a bottom brain and that bottom brain is called their penis. The top brain drives the car. The bottom brain controls everything else.

5. In fact, ignore everything a teenage girl tells you unless she's helping you with math. Teenagers-- and that includes you-- know very little and lie about quite a bit.

Most importantly, don't believe the sick twisted adults who tell you these are the best years of your life.

Yes, I'm available for graduations.

For Tweet's Sake 2

Here are some of my recent Twitter postings.

Thinks "The Mariana Trench" would be a really bad nickname for a woman's Va-Jay-Jay.

Followed a guy with an "I'm speeding because I have to poop" bumper sticker just to see what he looked like.

Joke for Letterman: In England, the first daughters visited the Harry Potter set. Malia got knocked up under the invisible cloak.

Slutty flight attendant look? On Southwest they look like field hockey coaches. On DELTA they look like grandpa's 2nd wife.

Perhaps a bad dream is just my brain's way of telling me that I sleep too much.

Kicked butt in computer Scrabble: Scored 492 with 104 in one turn. Boo-ya! (Not a Scrabble word.)

I always feel good when I clean off my desk but not nearly as good as I had imagined.

"Buy dad a pair of eco-certified hemp shoes with soles made from reused car tires." I think he'd rather have Scotch.

Susan Boyle should change her name to Lance A. Boyle. (The image results for lancing boils are eerily similar to her 8x10.) Ouch!

Rented Paul Blart Mall Cop because Kevin James is the only person in the DVDExpress box who hubby (@brianmckim) has played poker with.

On vacation, you can have coconut rum and guava juice for breakfast. At home, it just means you have a drinking problem.

Dance Party Friday!

This whole Letterman/Palin joke controversy is causing me a great deal of stress. I need a break from thinking. I need a break from arguing. I need a break from thinking and arguing.

So, let's dance! Yeh Yeh!



The original "Yeh Yeh" by Georgie Fame.



And now a karaoke version.

Brian The Tiger

My husband has finally given me permission to post this picture from our recent trip to Hawaii. Consider this a cautionary tale. This is what happens to a person of Irish ancestry who lounges by the pool and ignores his nagging wife when she waves around a tube of 30 sunblock and repeatedly says, "Put it on! Put it on!"



His explanation for the tiger pattern is painfully honest, "The bottom stripes are from my book. The top stripes are from my man tits."

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

The other day I posted the following joke on Twitter.

I don't understand erotic asphyxiation. Why not erotic heimlich? Your life would be saved and you'd get dinner.

Yesterday, one of my Twitter pals sent me a link to the following NY Post article on the death of David Carradine.

In a twist that could be straight out of one the "Kill Bill" star's movies, attorney Mark Geragos suggested that Carradine may have been killed as he tried to uncover groups working in the martial-arts underworld.

The lawyer said the actor's family refuses to believe he died in a sadomasochistic sex stunt gone wrong -- despite his being found naked with a rope tied around his neck, wrists and genitals.

The family also refuses to believe he died in a sadomasochistic sex stunt (try saying that ten times fast) even though in 1993 his wife claimed in divorce papers that Carradine was "a fan of potentially deadly kinky sex acts." Perhaps he was only a fan of potentially deadly kinky sex acts with members of the underground martial-arts world.

If it wasn't so tragic it would be hilarious. Actually, it's still pretty hilarious.

Face it Carradine clan, your patriarch liked to get his rocks off by tying his rocks off. "Snatch the rope from my hand, grasshopper and tie it around my neck and nuts!"

But let's play their little game, maybe Carradine was just a klutz and the rope accidentally tied around his neck and genitals when he was trying to hang up a shirt in his closet.

If Geragos is right and I'm wrong, I will be the first to apologize. I will even make a donation to the Former TV Stars Against The Marial-Arts Underworld Foundation if necessary.

But the family has to realize that between the announcement of Carradine's death and the announcement of the cause of his death, he became a punchline. Positing even more bizarre theories does nothing for his legacy.

Wild Idol Adam Lambert

Adam Lambert is gay! Man, I haven't been this shocked since Clay Aiken came out of the closet. Before that I hadn't been so surprised since The Village People revealed their homosexual tendencies. (Yes, there was a time when the average American didn't know The Village People were gay. To this day, I still bust my brother's chops for innocently saying back in the early '80's, "I hear the construction worker is married to a very good looking woman.")

Do I care that Adam Lambert is gay? Of course not. The only people who should care that Adam Lambert is gay are his parents, his ex-girlfriends (almost all gay men have them) and Idol runner-up Kris Allen who bunked with Lambert during the competition.

From the Rolling Stone article:

When he moved into the show's Bel-Air mansion with the other finalists, he roomed with Kris Allen, who won the "Idol" title over Lambert last month.

"I was like, `Oh, (bleep), they put me with the cute guy,'" Lambert says. "Distracting! He's the one guy that I found attractive in the whole group on the show: nice, nonchalant, pretty and totally my type — except that he has a wife. I mean, he's open-minded and liberal, but he's definitely 100 percent straight."

Yeah, I bet that wasn't at all distracting for Allen.

There's no doubt that Lambert's sexual preference cost him the American Idol title but not because America is a land of homophobes as some might assume. He was runner-up because the overwhelming majority of Idol voters are little girls.

While little girls may have crushes on boys who look like little girls (for me, it was Leif Garrett), those same little girls want boys who like girls. It's that simple. The concept of "turning a guy" doesn't even creep into the female psyche until freshman year of college.

There was simply no way a gay man was going to get more ten-year-old-girl votes than Kris Allen, a guy who even Lambert describes as nice, nonchalant and pretty.

Lambert should drop the Freddie Mercury glam-rock facade, move to New York and take-over Broadway. If Constantine Maroulis can get a Tony nomination, so can he.

Pyongyang Or Bust

If a tree falls down on the job, and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?

And, of course, by "tree" I mean Al Gore.

Yesterday, two of Al Gore's reporters for his Current TV, Euna Lee and Laura Ling, were sentenced by North Korea to 12 years of hard labor for illegally entering NK and "grave crimes" against the country. Although, I think the only grave crime against North Korea is Kim Jong Il's hair.


Obama is deeply concerned. Al Gore has been strangely silent.

Latest reports indicate that Gore may travel to North Korea to negotiate their release.

Now, I understand such actions must be cleared by both the current administration and the State Department, but where's the bluster? Where's the tough talk? If Al Gore is an expert on global warming then where, at least, is the hot air?

Can you imagine if Dick Cheney had started an all-news channel and his reporters were captured by crazy commies? Do you really think we'd be reading stories about how Cheney may help negotiate their release? By this time, Cheney would be crawling across the border into South Korea with Kim Jong Il's bloody toupee in his teeth.

The women have been in custody since March but the story only became public as the trial date neared. Ling, who's sister Lisa Ling has been publicly pleading for mercy, must be in more hell right now than she was when co-hosting The View.

Experts speculate North Korea will use the women as negotiating tools. If I were king of the forest, here would be my proposal, "You send us back our reporters and we won't put a rocket up your ass."

Failed Product Hall Of Fame

On the clearance rack at my local supermarket was a can of Fabreze Moroccan Bazaar. I wonder why the price was drastically reduced? Could it be the name of the scent?!

Have the folks at Fabreze ever smelled a Moroccan Bazaar? Personally, I don't want my couch to smell like body odor, snakes and snakes with body odor.



The only place a Moroccan Bazaar smells good is at Epcot and that's because it's Disney. Even giant rats smell good at Disney.

When I see Moroccan Bazaar, I just think BO in a can. I think of somebody coming out of a bathroom saying, "Don't go in there, it smells like a Moroccan Bazaar."

The website describes the aroma as "Fresh-ground ginger, one of the many stimulating scents at a Moroccan spice market." The only thing that would be stimulated is my gag reflex.

Perhaps they should have just called the product Fabreze Ginger. If nothing else, it would have been bought by Gilligan's Island fans.

Sam Butera Dead At 81

If I had a time machine, I wouldn't waste my travels on stealing Lincoln's theater tickets or talking Hitler's mother into having an abortion. I would selfishly head straight to 1950's Las Vegas to see Louis Prima, Keely Smith and Sam Butera perform in their prime.