Am I Right, Ladies?

That line is an inside joke I have with one of my comedy buddies, Joe DeVito. Last week, he appeared on the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. He's a funny dude. And don't let the sweater vest fool you. He's actually quite hip.

Minneapolis Continued

We're staying withing walking distance of the Mall of America. Even so, there's a shuttle bus to and from our hotel. Given the choice of walking in the cold or standing in the cold waiting for a bus so we don't have to walk in the cold, we choose to keep moving.

I want to open a Grizzly Bear exhibit across the street from the Mall of America and call it Maul of America. Just imagine the looks on the faces of the little old ladies who are dropped off at the wrong establishment. There would be lots of "Oh dear" and "Oh my" and "Someone please help me. I'm being mauled." That's right, Grandma went to the Maul of America and all I got was this lousy death certificate.

The Mall of America is no ordinary mall. Along with the Auntie Anne's and Victoria's Secrets, there's an aquarium and a Nickelodeon-sponsored amusement park. But the main attraction is still shopping and the hotels surrounding this palace to retail are filled with out-of-towners who book hotel rooms just so they can take a shuttle to purchase goods. I suppose if you live in a rural area visiting a big mall is exciting if not necessary. I can't relate. As my husband says, "Where we live, we pass two malls on the way to the mall."

We mostly walk to the mall for the food court. On Thursday we had decent Greek and yesterday we had very mediocre Thai. Perhaps today, we'll go for crappy Italian. We'd love to eat some local Minneapolis cuisine but, besides their obsession with wild rice, we can't figure out what Minnesotans eat.

I suppose they like fish but, after visiting the aquarium yesterday, I'd feel a little guilty dining on our underwater friends. I once ate a ham dinner after watching the movie "Babe" and still can't look myself in the mirror.

We fly home Monday morning. The local weather genies are predicting six inches of snow. Shoveling snow in April is not my idea of a good time. It'll be nice to get back to New Jersey and spring-like temperatures.

Greetings From The Joke Joint In Minneapolis

We flew in on Thursday morning. There were babies-- with adult chaperones, of course-- in the two rows directly behind us. For the most part, the infants were as well-behaved as infants on a plane can be. But, for some inexplicable reason, one of the idiot dads thought it would be a good idea to bring a squeaky toy to entertain the traveling tot.

A squeaky toy... on a plane... filled with trapped adults... who are trying to sleep! As a non-parental adult, I can manage to sleep fitfully through the cries of a child. But not a man nor dog can sleep through the squeak, squeak, squeak of a little plastic toy.

I have to write to the FAA or the TAA or AAA and see if we can put squeaky toys on the banned items list. My only hope is that a terrorist tries to highjack an airliner with a grenade in one hand and a squeaky pork chop in the other.

We're Having A Hemorrhoid Party Tonight!

I was looking for the proper message technique to relieve a kink in my neck when I discovered this kicky maneuver. Can you just imagine the looks on the faces of the message therapy students when they get to this chapter? "We have to do what?" "Where?"

What I like most about Step 4 is that not only does it help with urinary retention and seminal emission but it also cures mental disorders.

If nothing else, the illustrations would make great T-shirts.

Step 4: Chang Qiang point

Midway between the tip of the coccyx bone and the anus.
Massage the point by thumb for 1-3 minutes.

Massage Therapy

Main point for hemorrhoids from excess or deficiency, anal prolapse, analfissure
Important point for genitourinary disorders, for the five types of painful urinary disorder, urinary retention, sexual exhaustion, impotence, seminal emission.
Anal Prolapse - Clonic Spasm - Consitpation - Diarrhea - Hemorrhoids - Impotence - Lumbar Pain - Lumbar Spinal Pain - Mental Disorders - Sacral Pain - Seizures - Stool With Blood - Tetany - Urinary Dysfunction

Step 5: Hui Yang point

On either side of the tip of the coccyx, 0.5 finger's breadth lateral to the posterior midline.

Massage the point by thumb for 1-3 minutes.

Massage Therapy

Resolves Damp Heat , Benefits The Coccyx , Regulates The Lower Burner , Treats Hemorrhoids
Anal and Rectal Conditions - Coccyx Pain - Diarrhea - Dysenteric Disorder - Hemorrhoids - Impotence - Leukorrhea - Lumbar And Leg Pain - Menstrual Lumbar Pain


More disturbing pictures can be found at humor-blogs.

American Idol 3/26/08

Jacuzzi aka Chikezie is gone!

The judges sure do spend a lot of time talking about originality. Last night, David Cook received high praise from the three panelists for his rocker rendition of Michael Jackson's Billy Jean. Tonight, however, we discovered that his version was not as original as everybody thought.

Chris Cornell from Soundgarden is the original one. I'm into music, but this one got by me, I'm embarrassed to say. I guess Cook was hoping it got by everybody else as well. No doubt, the reason Seacrest heard from Cornell earlier in the day was to say, "WTF? Give a dude credit where credit is due!"

Here's Cornell's take on Billy Jean followed by Cook's.

American Idol 3/25/08

Was Paula late for a performance in Sweet Charity? Nothing else could explain that hideous get-up she was wearing. Fingerless gloves and fake diamonds? When did she start dating Dr. Evil?

Tonight's theme was "When They Were Born" which meant each contestant had to pick a song recorded in the year of their birth. I think it would have been more entertaining if they picked songs from the month they were conceived. That would have made for far more interesting pre-performance interviews. "So, my parents were doing it to U2's "With Or Without You" when the condom broke..."

Ramiele Mulaby: My question for Ramiele is "how do I get you alone" so I don't have to listen to you sing? Nobody but Heart should try to sing Heart when they are under the weather. Ramiele said, "I didn't have the flu, it (her voice) just went bye bye." I think she should start using her adult words.

Jason Castro: I'm always waiting for Jason Castro's dreadlocks to get caught in his guitar strings. I'm reminded of the day as a child when I got my shoelace caught in my bicycle chain. I think I had the same look on my face that Jason has on his face when he sings: a combination of pain and surprise. Last week Castro sang in French and this week in Spanish. What can we expect for next week, a German dance remix of "99 Luftballons"?

Syesha Mercado: When Syesha Mercado looks in the mirror she sees a good-looking Whitney Houston. Something about her bugs me... and it's more than just that annoying baby cry she does during almost every interview. (Get some new material!) She's one of those people who looks good on paper, but the reality is not nearly as exciting as you would expect. I do, however, think Paula went too far when she called her a "Dark Horse." The statement was not only racially insensitive but I think mocking the size of her teeth was completely uncalled for.

Chikezie: I'm always bugged by men who wear white sneakers while singing a love song. Put on some dress shoes and show your imaginary lady some respect! I just wish Chikezie would sing some Nigerian songs. I've seen King Sunny Ade and he's got some kick-ass music.

Brooke White: I give her credit for starting, stopping and starting again. Most contestants would have panicked and continued to sing in the wrong key. In fact, I think most contestants do panic and continue singing in the wrong key.

Michael Johns: Finally, a contestant born in the '70's! I was starting to feel really old. The boy sure does like to sing Queen. If he had any balls, he would wear one of those Freddie Mercury two-toned stretchy leotards with the matching codpiece. (Can you believe nobody knew Freddy Mercury was gay?) His rendition of "We Will Rock You" made me flashback to ninth grade when we used to drive the lunch ladies crazy by banging on the tables and singing that song at the top of our lungs. We were such rebels.

Carly Smithson: After winding up in the bottom three last week, Carly had a bit of the "deer caught in the headlights" look tonight. I don't think she's quite over the shock. She seriously needs to cover-up those tattoos. I don't think middle-America is ready for a girl in a dress with biker arms. Maybe it will help that she has a hot mom. Her and Brooke's mom should be neck and neck in the MILF competition...if there is a MILF competition.

David Archuleta: I agree with Simon, it was a theme park performance. Actually, it was more like a religious theme park performance. I wonder if David has ever been to Bible World in Orlando? He could get a job as the singing baby Jesus.

Kristy Lee Cook: Oh boy, nice try with the "I'm Proud To Be An American" suck-up move. Talk about your theme park performance. All that was missing were fireworks shooting out of her ass.

David Cook: He's right, his skull is huge. Explains the haircut, I suppose. It might also explain why he did a alterna-rock version of Billy Jean. That was weird. It was what I imagine Pearl Jam would do at karaoke.

Prediction: Ramiele, just like her voice, is about to go bye-bye. But, I was wrong last week.

Now here's King Sunny Ade singing some cool Nigerian music.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 8

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.



Kate Benkinsale

Rejected: Why wear heels when you can just float?

Amy Sedaris

Accepted: Instead of rolling up the sleeves, roll up the whole outfit!

Rejected: From the ankles down,it's nice.

Kate Hudson

Accepted: Throw that dress in the Hudson River!

Rejected: On an ugly couch, it's camouflage.

Vanessa Williams

Accepted: Makes you long for the days when she posed naked!

Rejected: All she needs is a Prom King.

Jay Wright Fever

I don't want to name names, but I think a certain CBS basketball play-by-play announcer has a man-crush on Villanova head coach, Jay Wright. Even the analysts seem a bit smitten with the handsome, well-dressed Wildcats leader.

I suppose in the Jerry Tarkanian world of college basketball where Larry Brown was as close as you'd get to a matinee idol, Wright is a delightful change of pace. Now that his "Cinderella" team has reached the Sweet Sixteen, the swooning should rival anything seen at a Justin Timberlake concert.

I'm rooting for 'Nova (as the folks here in Philly call them) even though they were the only local team I didn't pick to make it out of the first round (damn you Temple and St. Joe's!)

Folks with just a passing knowledge of the NCAA tournament will remember Villanova from their 1985 championship win. Back then they were coached by the gruff but loveable Rollie Massimino who was appealing in a Tommy Lasorda kind of way. Many believe it was the best-coached performance in NCAA history.

After his victory, Massimino cashed in on some lucrative endorsement deals. If Wright manages to to find his way to the Final Four, he better get himself a commercial agent. With his appeal, he won't just get local car dealership money, he'll be cashing big fat checks from beer, Viagra and Just For Men Gel.

An American Easter

As I was watching my Irish-American husband make homemade Polish pierogis while we listened to Jamaican Grace Jones sing a French pop song (La Vie En Rose), I once again appreciated the inclusiveness of the American culture. In a way, we're like the world's cultural editors. We take the good stuff, then kick the rest back with a note that says, "Needs work." Unfortunately, other nations look at us the same way a recent Ivy-league journalism grad looks at the grizzled, unkempt copyeditor at a smalltown newspaper.

I love the good ol' US of A. On this Easter Day, I just wanted to call Reverend Wright and say, "It's not goddam America. It's goddam, America's great!"

This year, we decided to cook a Polish Easter dinner for my sister-in-law who is of Polish descent. There are three really good things Poles are known for: the ability to endure "dumb Polack" jokes, Solidarność and kick-ass Easter dinners.

We skipped the whole getting- the- priest- to- bless- the- food part, but, otherwise, we tried to make the dinner as authentic as possible. Along with the pierogi we bought fresh kielbasa from a deli (where all the signs were in Polish) and we wound up ordering what the guy next in line ordered (because at least he spoke English).

We served lots of beets, horseradish and sour cream. Our guests brought Zywiec and Okocim beer along with the sweet cherry Kijafa wine (which my husband concluded would make a tasty yet lethal snow cone).

And we have enough leftover ham to keep us retaining water for at least a week.

Perhaps we'll do it again next year. Or maybe we'll borrow an Easter tradition from another culture. I can assure you that we will not be participating in the Philippine tradition of nailing oneself to a cross. I barely made it out of the Polish deli alive, there's a limit to my multi-cultural commitment.

Easter Parade

Eight months ago, my husband and I made an Easter-themed short film based on an Easter gift we had received several months earlier. We describe our work as "Industrial Light and Magic meets The Dollar Store."

It's less than four minutes in length and, unlike some of our previous films, it's safe to view at work.

Our other mini-masterpieces can be seen on ourYouTube Channel.

In My Easter Bonnet

When I was a much younger and smaller version of myself, my parents would spend money they obviously didn't have on complete Easter ensembles for my siblings and me. My fancy getup always included a new coat, dress, shoes, gloves, hat, tights, frilly underwear and, the most pointless item of all for a pre-schooler, a pocketbook.

My mother often shopped for these outfits at a store called Kelly's Korner. If you watch the movie "Rocky" you'll see Adrian carrying a Kelly's Korner bag when she reveals her makeover to the Italian Stallion. My aunt worked as a cashier at Kelly's Korner and she would often "forget" to ring up certain articles for us upon checkout. Yes, I know technically this was theft but, since we were poorish, I think Jesus would approve.

You most likely assume my parents made us wear our Easter best so we could impress the other parishioners at church. There was just one problem, we didn't go to church. We went to the zoo. That's right-- once a year my mother would buy us clothes we would never wear again, just so we could look cute while feeding pellets to goats. Again, I think Jesus would approve.

My mother sure did have great taste in clothes. I looked adorable. But, I do have to question her decision to dress my brother in a gay safari suit. I don't care if it was 1969, you just shouldn't do that to your only son.

Easter was always fun at our house. Inexplicably, my mother would serve ham and stuffed shells even though none of us were Italian. The Easter bunny always brought us a metric ton of chocolate which probably caused me to have GERD even way back then. And, every two years or so, somebody would hide one of the hard-boiled eggs near the radiator and then forget, leading to a very smelly day several weeks later.

When I was six, the Easter bunny dropped a carrot on his way out but I think a CSI Team would discover through dental records that the bite mark was an exact match to one of my parents. I don't want to say that they both lied to me, but I definitely think Jesus would not approve this time.

Most importantly, Easter was the one day out of the year when I actually allowed my hair to be combed.

This year I will not be buying a new outfit for the holiday, but I will comb my hair. Some traditions are worth keeping. I just hope my brother doesn't show up for dinner wearing a gay safari suit.

American Idol 3/18/08

Hasn't Paul McCartney suffered enough this week? First he's ordered to pay ex-wife Heather Mills 48 million dollars and now he has to listen to certain American Idol contestants butcher his songs for the second week in a row.

Randy yawned, Simon winked and Paula rambled. What more do you need to know about the judges. As Simon would say, "It is what it is."

1. Whenever I see biker Amanda Overmyer lift her sleeveless arms in the air, I fully expect to see big old hairy patches. She just seems like the type to have a a couple of Chia Pits under those fully-developed limbs. I'm not a big fan of her voice but I like her. She seems to have perspective.

2. Kristy, Kristy, Kristy, if you're a good-looking girl never say on national television or even at a dinner party, "I can blow you out of your socks and you know it." We all have dirty minds, Miss Kristy Lee Cook. Everyone over the age of ten went to a dark place when you innocently uttered those words.

3. David Archuleta-- who my husband calls a pint-sized Josh Grobin-- always looks like he needs a tissue. You just want to get a Kleenex, grab his cute little nose and say, "Blow harder, Davie." (See, Kristie that's how you use the word blow without eliciting giggles.)

4. Michael Johns should have never tried to edit "A Day In A Life" down to 90 seconds even if the song was dedicated to a dead friend. It was like reading the Cliff's Notes to "Atlas Shrugged."

5. Brooke White should not move when she sings. The stiller she is the better she is. (Is stiller a word?) Perhaps she should perform next time in an iron lung... in a yellow, happy iron lung, with a smiley face on the side, of course.

6. It's interesting that Idol contestants can play instruments this year but I think they went too far when David Cook played the Peter Frampton mouthey thingie. If he wanted to borrow anything from Frampton he should have chosen his 1970's flowing locks. Sadly, David Cook has the worst hair in the competition. I can't decide if it looks like hat hair or a really bad comb-over.

7. I have one word for Carly Smithson... sleeves. The contrast between the tattooed biceps and the flowery girlie top was just too distracting.

8. Jason Castro mistakingly chose "Michelle." It's just one of those songs that sounds ridiculous when performed by anyone other than Paul McCartney. Castro reminded me of a rock singer who suddenly finds himself leading a wedding band.

9. Syesha Mercado had her cleavage on tonight. Did any male actually listen to her sing?

10. Chikezie managed to turn "I've Just Seen A Face" into two completely different songs. First half, R&B. Second half, bluegrass. It was like he was a cast member on "Whose Line Is It Anyway" and Drew Carey was yelling out various genres of music so he had to change each time. The harmonica solo made me long for the Peter Frampton mouthie thingie.

11. Ramiele Mulabay wins the "Britney Spears Bad Fashion Award" for the night. Although, she would have been better off copying Brit's lyp-synching rather than her clothes.

Prediction: Kristy Lee Cook will not be helped by her blowing comment and will be gone.

Now, here's "A Day In The Life" the way it's supposed to be heard.

Go Ahead, Supreme Court, Make My Day.

In my husband's hometown, there is a shooting range located across the street from the local high school. Some anti-gun residents believe this is a dangerous and unacceptable situation. We think it makes Pennsauken High School one of the safest insitutions of learning in the country. Seriously, what idiot teen would shoot up a classroom knowing that several hundred yards away there are expert marksmen with loaded guns just looking for a target?

Today the Supreme Court will hear arguments on the Second Amendment for the first time in over 200 years. Folks on both sides of the issue are more nervous than Geraldine Ferraro at an Obama rally.

Personally, I would never own a gun. When it comes to firearms I am no Annie Oakley. I'm "ascared" of 'em. (Note to potential rapists, intruders and other home invaders: My husband does, however, own a rather impressive machete, which he keeps next to the bed. It has a finely honed edge and mighty 18" silkscreened on the blade. He calls it "his Mighty 18-Incher" and he is well aware of the double entendre.)

But, as a person who grew up in a semi-dangerous inner-city neighborhood, I understand why a law-abiding neighbor would want the means to ward off thugs. The law which prevents DC residents from owning handguns (the very law which Justice Roberts and the Gang will be discussing) sounds like an edict created by the criminals.

I truly believe that if guns are banned only criminals will have guns. For the life of me, I cannot understand why the rest of the country does not feel the same way. In any other case, I'm always told that "people will do it anyway." Why bother teaching abstinence to kids when they are only going to have sex anyway. Marijuana should be legalized because people are going to smoke it anyway. Why ban guns when criminals are going to use them anyway!

In a somewhat related story, The Smoking Gun outdid themselves this week with their Al Pacino mug shot pictorial. On display is one photo after another of criminals wearing "Scarface" and "Carlito's Way" T-shirts.

You see, criminals love guns. Criminals love movies about guns. What criminals don't love is a potential victim who owns a gun.

Going For The Threepeat!

Former New Jersey Govenor, Jim McGreevey aka Jim Bad McDreamy aka Jim Full Of McSteamy now stands idly by and watches-- apparently he's into that sort of thing-- as his ex-driver claims to have had threesomes with the Gay American and the ex-Mrs. Gay American.

Dina Matos McGreevey-- who for some inexplicable reason still uses her married name-- denies the allegations.

According to third wheel/accusator Teddy Pedersen, the wrestling matches took place at the end of the work week after a lovely dinner at TGI Fridays. If the story is true, you would think Mrs. McGreevey would have at least chosen Applebee's because their slogan is "Eatin' Good in the Neighborhood." (Gosh, how the McGreevey/Pedersen group must have giggled when the hostess asked, "Are there three in your party?")

I don't know if this story is true and, quite frankly, I don't care if this story is true. But any man who would allow this sordid tale to be used in a custody battle deserves to lose his child. It's bad enough the little girl has to grow up with the image of her father having sex with strange men in an alley behind a synogogue, now she'll never be able to listen to the song "Thank God It's Friday" by Love and Kisses without bursting into tears.

As a New Jersey resident, I continue to be embarrassed by our former first family. As a fan of twosomes, I find the idea of threesomes to be a bit... creepy. And, as a fan of ethnic food, I can't figure out why anybody would want to eat at TGI Fridays.

Plus, if my husband ever said it was acceptable for me to sleep with another man-- whether he watched or not-- I would kick his ass from here to Trenton. I'm sorry, there is something wrong with a male who isn't slightly jealous or territorial about his woman. Either he's gay or he's gay. Ashley Baia

May The Road Rise Up To Meet You

For St. Patrick's Day, I thought I'd post a picture of me in Ireland with my mother-in-law and some woman standing behind her.



I'm not a big fan of St. Patrick's Day and all it has to offer: binge drinking, green food that's not supposed to be green, inebriated men wearing "Kiss Me I'm Irish" T-shirts slipping their best friend's wives the tongue.

The other 364 days out of the year, however, I love all things Irish... well, except for driving on the wrong side of the road, punching out your third cousin and Sinn Fein. Plus I've known since the age of seven that I would someday marry a tall, blond man of Irish descent. This piece of news came as a great relief to my tall, blond husband of Irish descent.

Our 1990 trip to The Mother Land-- as hubby refuses to call it-- was great fun. There's nothing quite like a gigantic Irish breakfast. "Why, yes, I'd love oatmeal and soda bread with marmalade and two fried eggs with bacon and sausage and a couple of broiled tomato halves and please pass the oversize tub of butter because I'm too fat and stuffed to reach across the table and get it myself."

Between the 8,000 calorie first meal and the eight pints of after dinner beer, I'm surprised I didn't have to buy a second airplane ticket for my ass on the way home.

Since I don't have a favorite Irish tune, I thought I'd post my favorite Public Image Limited song, "Rise" the chorus of which is based on an Irish proverb.

Oh Happy Day!

My third-favorite local Goodwill store is now being run by somewhat stern Russian immigrants. While the Eskimos-- aka Indigenous Alaskans-- may have four hundred words for snow, former Soviet bloc merchants don't seem have one single word for service.

The place is as messy as an angst-ridden teenager's bedroom. It's the kind of thrift shop that makes you feel bad about shopping at a thrift shop. But there are good deals to be found if you're not afraid to trip over used furniture or dig through piles of debris.

As my husband and I were inspecting what is now our new computer bag, I was approach by a smiling elderly gentleman who handed me a two-inch booklet and said, "This is from the Lord." The name of the mini-publication was "Jesus Saves" or "Jesus Loves You" or "Jesus' Favorite Recipes."

In my indignant younger days, I may have snorted and tossed back the religious promotional tool or at the very least lied and said that I was Jewish. (Since I'm 1/8 Jewish it would only be 7/8 of a lie.) But, the current placid me took the book, smiled broadly and thanked him sincerely. He said, "God bless" and left happy.

Why not? He was only trying to help in his own pushy, inept way. I was, after all, shopping in a creepy Goodwill. He probably thought I needed some guidance or, at the very least, directions to Target.

Before exiting, I placed Jesus' book on a shelf near the front door. Maybe it will be exactly what somebody else is looking for-- I was only looking for vintage drinking glasses and a dress to wear to Hawaii.

But what if the man wasn't lying when he said, "This is from the Lord." What if, instead of a religious text, the Lord was just slipping me a note like boys used to do in high school. What if the inside said, "Jesus thinks you're cute."

Sorry, Jesus, I'm married. But I'm sure you'll have no problem finding a date for the prom. Who wouldn't want to go with a guy who could turn water into wine.

Bed Bath & Beyond Hideous

Gentlemen, please put the Slipper Genie Micro Fiber Cleaning Slippers on the list of things never to buy your wife...or girlfriend...or mother...or grandmother...or dog for that matter. (Okay, they would be pretty humorous on a dog.)

I don't care if they are "also available in pink." I don't care if you can "slip'em on and they'll do the cleaning for you!" I don't care if they are being sold for the low low price of $9.99. These slippers are a dreadful combination of revolting and insulting.



The Slipper Genie must have be invented by a man. Only a guy would come up with something so practical yet so completely wrong on every level. I'm reminded of the stay-at-home father of sextuplets I once saw on television who fed his kids Cheerios by dumping them on the floor. He theorized that if he put them in a bowl, the kids would just drop them on the carpet anyway. You see, practical yet so completely wrong on every level.

As a former gymnast who still retains much of her flexibility even in middle-age, I could probably put the Slipper Genie Micro Fiber Cleaning Slippers to good use. My ability to do a split means that I could easily clean under a couch and a chair at the same time. Heck, if I balanced myself correctly, I could dust the top of my television.

Actually, these would be the perfect gift for Apollo Anton Ono or any other Olympic champion speed skater on your shopping list. Can you imagine how quickly he would dust the entire dining room floor?

The rest of us would just pull an inner thigh muscle or, worse, break a hip. But, spraying a bunch of Pledge and strapping two pairs to the pooch still sounds mighty fun.

American Idol 3/12/08

Holy cross-promotion, Batman! Fox's desire to advertise their new movie turned the 60-minute elimination show into Horton Hears A Who Cares.

*** The normally funny Jim Carrey was lifeless in his over-sized elephant suit. The whole exchange between him and host Ryan Seacrest bordered on embarrassing. Although former male stripper David Hernandez was probably relieved that his penis was no longer the giant elephant in the room.

*** Speaking of former stripper David Hernandez, he was voted off. Let's hope he hasn't thrown away his rhinestone jockstrap and break-away chaps.

*** The phone calls were even more excruciating than waiting for Paula to complete a sentence. The viewing public rarely comes up with anything interesting to say. That's why God created writers.

*** Marrying a man old enough to be her father seems to suit Katherine McPhee.

*** Nobody seems more surprised than Kristy Lee Cook that she will be on the show for another week. But I did feel sorry for her that she had to yet again sing a song that was the cause of her national humiliation just 24 hours prior.

*** Amanda Overmyer sure is smiling a lot these days. To be honest, I sort of miss the sullen and slightly hostile Amanda. I almost want her to land in the bottom three next week just so she'll be miserable again.

*** I'll have to remember next week to tune into the show ten minutes late just so I'll miss the group sing-a-long. Somehow everybody-- even the cool ones-- come off looking ultra square, turning the whole event into Up With People meets Up With Dinner. It always reminds me of Russian skating champions who wear spandex denim and skate to American Rock 'N Roll.

*** When did I turn into Larry King? You know, that Angie Dickenson has quite a pair of legs.

American Idol 3/11/08

The boy wonder melts down! Former Star Search Junior Grand Champion, David Archuleta is lucky he isn't a contestant on Fox's Don't Forget The Lyrics.

After screwing up the words to a classic Lennon/McCartney tune, Archuleta veered off-key, screwed up the lyrics, veered off-key and then screwed up the lyrics again. Throughout the song, he didn't just have the "deer caught in the headlights" look, he had the "deer caught in your underwear drawer" look. It was a combination of panic and bemusement that crossed his little Tiger Beat centerfold face.

Luckily for David A., other contestants were far worse.

Former male stripper, David Hernandez who, according to his pre-performance interview, worked at a pizza place (well, both jobs did involve salami) was almost as good/bad as Adam Sandler in "The Wedding Singer". He was sooooooo L7. By this time next week, he may just be begging for his job back at Dick's House of Dicks or whatever the joint was called.

Kristy Lee Cook could be Kristy Lee cooked. The girl with the ever-changing hair was more Dollywood than Hollywood. Her hyper-speedy version of "Eight Days A Week" seemingly took eight seconds to sing. And I deeply resent her "I was just a farm girl until a few weeks ago" story when all you have to do is Google her name to see that she used to have a recording contract.

I was so relieved to hear Simon refer to the Irish girl as "The Irish Girl." I'll be damned if I can remember her name and I'm thrilled that Simon can't either. She should just legally change her name to "The Irish Girl" before it's too late. I'm sure Sinead O'Connor isn't using it anymore. If anything, O'Connor is now called "That Irish Girl" as in "Remember that Irish girl?"

Chikezie-- or as Simon calls him Jacuzzi-- or as I call him Chucky Cheesey-- was really good tonight with his Yo Brotha Where Art Thou interpretation-- and yes, I said Yo Brotha because he's black... get it?... I made a black joke.

The Aging Trifecta

I plucked the first gray hair from my then-bottle-blond head back when I was in my early thirties. My mother had grayed early, so losing hair pigment prematurely came as no great shock. Consequently, I didn't look at this turn of events as a sign of aging. To me it was just the inevitable result of a genetic quirk.

Lately, however, three incidents have made me fear that middle-age is in my rear-view mirror and the next exit is clearly marked "Senior Town."

1. I bought prunes on sale. Yes, I have recently discovered that I love prunes and I have also recently discovered that I love prunes even more if they are half-price. Oh sure, you can make yourself sound younger by calling them "discounted dried plums" but we all know what they really are.

2. I own two pairs of reading glasses. It doesn't really matter that they are hip cool reading glasses-- one is red plaid and the other metallic blue-- I still purchased them at a drug store because I could no longer read without extending my arm as far away from my body as humanly possible. It also doesn't matter that my husband thinks I look hot when I wear them. OK, that matters a little, but it's still sad that I own two pair because I can never remember where I left the other pair.

3. I'm taking Glucosamine and Chondroitin. Years of soccer, gymnastics, softball and cheerleading have left me with a bum knee, so I'm finally following the advice of my father and all my friend's mothers who have recommended this course of treatment. Up until now, I preferred painkillers, ice and swearing.

I feel old. Maybe I should take all that prune money I saved and go out and purchase a pair of black high heels. I could test out the new knee by wearing them around the apartment. Maybe I'll even put on my reading glasses so I'll look really hot.



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Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 8

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.



Natalie Portman

Accepted:Star Wars VII: Revenge of the Scissors.

Rejected:Perfect if you're a cult leader.

Kim Cattrall:

Accepted:Let's hope there's not one of those in the front.

Rejected:Frederick's of Oldywood.

Nicole Kidman

Rejected:What a witch wears to her baby shower.

Rejected:The fetus is wearing a shirt that says "I'm with stupid!"

The Pyrotechnic Wonder From Down Under

Back in the late '90's, when the comedy business was still in the dumper forcing my husband and I to desperately look for something else to do, we took over the North American publicity for Vincent Silvestro, "The Pyrotechnic Wonder From Down Under."

Vincent Silvestro, "The Pyrotechnic Wonder From Down Under," races around a racetrack at 30 miles per hour, while standing, with the reins in his teeth. Using a remote control keypad on his thigh, he sets off a series of fireworks from the back of his sulky while holding a flare in each hand.

At the time, we didn't know anything about fireworks or horses or Australian daredevils, but we learned quickly. We helped put together a few successful shows at racetracks across the Northeast before leaving the company to go back to full-time standup.

For the record, the horse is never harmed before, during or after the performance. He's specially trained and is, perhaps, one of the most docile creatures we've ever met. On his downtime, he helps disabled children with their therapy making him the Don Imus of equine world.

Shake It Like A Polaroid Picture

In the pre-digital camera days, I thought it was really cool to have a Polaroid picture taken in front of the Polaroid building in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now that Polaroid is phasing out their instant cameras, it seems rather sad.

The year was 1985. The temperature was 1,985 degrees below zero. Both the year and the freezing temps explain the red down coat and the soccer ball earmuffs. Nothing, however, justifies wearing white high-top Reebok aerobic sneakers during the winter months. It would be three years before I bought myself some proper snow boots.

I spent many a winter and spring and fall and summer in Beantown during the '80's comedy boom. I miss those days. I'll miss our Polaroids. I will not miss the fashions.

Problem Solved

At least I hope the problem is solved. At nasty little code error (damn those missing closed brackets!) caused my humble blog to look awful in IE. If any of you are still having trouble, please let me know. Everything was fine in Firefox (my browser of choice) so I was unaware of the problem for a good 24 hours.

Singing Mammograms!

The second worst part about getting a mammogram is not being able to wear deodorant. The worst part, of course, is having your boobs squashed by a two-ton machine.

Today only my left breast was violated. This photo session was a follow-up to the hooter surgery I had six months ago. The docs needed to see if my ductoscopy-- which sounds like a procedure a duck has when he no longer wants to be a duck-- was successful.

I like to think of mammograms as a necessary evil. Yes, they are unpleasant but so is waiting in line at the DMV.

The most unsettling part of the test is having a strange woman man-handle your knockers. It must be like being on a date with an inexperienced lesbian. (Having never been on a date with an inexperienced lesbian-- or an experienced lesbian-- I can only guess.) You stand there helplessly as your precious cargo is is pushed around like a mound of ground chuck. You just want to yell, "Hey, some people really like these!"

The squashing part is also odd. At any moment you swear they're going to pop like a pimple. (For the record, they don't... or at least mine don't.)

They take four shots...one front and one side for each breast. There's lots of tugging and twisting, turning the hapless patient into human Silly Putty. For a half-second, I expected the technician to press my boobs down on the comic's section to pick up a print of Garfield. "Go ahead, put Marmaduke on the other one so they look like they're chasing each other."

It's all over in a matter of minutes so there's no excuse not to get one. And you get to wear home the nifty bandaid with the silver ball that they put over your nipple. At least I wore it home. Doesn't everybody?

American Idol 3/5/08

Simon is so much happier when Paula is a droopy-eyed, drooling mess. The minute they sober her up with black coffee and a cold shower, he becomes cranky again. If I were him, I would carry a flask full of vodka in my sock and pour a shot into her over-sized Coke cup during each performance. She would be happy, he would be happy and the singers would be happier still.

Now that contestants are permitted to play their own instruments, I'm always thrown when the camera shows a tight shot of the piano player's hands before we see the singer. For a split second I think, "Why does that little Asian girl have the hands of an aging black man?"

Britney impersonator, Kady Malloy, needed to perform sans underwear in order to get enough votes to stay on the show. What the heck, if you're going to pretend to be Britney you might as well go all the way. Besides if one of the guys can appear in public naked from the waist down, so should one of the girls.

Biker/nurse/rocker Amanda Overmyer seems bored to the point of annoyed with the entire proceedings. I'm surprised she didn't site "Appearing on American Idol" as her most embarrassing moment.

If Kristy Lee Cook is eliminated it'll be because she pulled her hair back into an "I'm going to a pot luck supper" 'do. I've never seen a woman look so attractive with one hair style and--as Simon would say--so completely forgettable or--as I would say--so downright church-y with another.

There was talk on Tuesday night's show about the Leonard Cohen song "Hallelujah." Simon and Randy agreed Jeff Buckley has the best version. Personally, I prefer Rufus Wainwright. He has a haunting quality to his voice that suits the song very well.

American Idol: 3/4/08

Paula was all highed-up again. On nights like this, it's fascinating to watch her say a bunch of words yet never actually string together a complete sentence.

As with most viewers, I tuned last night to see if former stripper and current Idol contestant, David Hernandez would be bounced from the show after reports surfaced that he used to dance naked at a gay Gentlemen's Club. No such luck. Although I did love the irony of him singing, "It's All Coming Back To Me Now."

The producers of Idol are in a real pickle. (Perhaps I shouldn't use the word "pickle" in a story about a male stripper.) If they ask him to leave, they will be accused of homophobia. If they don't ask him to leave, they will be accused of hypocrisy after giving Frenchie the boot several years ago when topless photos popped up of her online.

The real controversy will begin when grainy cell phone video of Hernandez shaking his unwrapped member in another man's face shows up on YouTube. America just isn't ready for the visual.

Besides, a naked man always looks more naked than a naked woman.

During last night's show, the participants talked about their most embarrassing moment. Oddly enough, Hernandez discussed boogers. Ask him that same question in a few weeks and I think he'll have a new story to tell.

Gerd Girl Guide 4

On the road, GERD is a four-letter-word. Appropriate food is harder to acquire, exercise is more difficult to fit into my schedule and I'm forced to sleep on hotel beds that are flatter than Howie Long's buzzcut.

At home, the head of our marital bed is raised six inches-- or for my Canadian friends... six inches. (Sorry, I don't know the metric conversion.) A mere half a foot may not sound very high but it took some getting used to.

For the longest time my husband and I felt like we were members of a two-man luge team. At any moment, we were convinced we would slide off the end of the bed, crossing the finish line in world record time.

It was particularly difficult for my husband to adjust to the incline. On some nights I would find him in the middle of the bed, crawling towards the top as if he were near death just two feet from the Mount Everest summit.

At one point he asked, "Do you think we should get a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed?" That was his nice way of saying, "Just because you have to sleep slanted doesn't mean I should."

He's fine with it now. I think he's just happy we don't have to sleep with the foot of our bed raised six inches. That would be weird in a whole different way.

Toastation!

For a solid year, I coveted the Hamilton Beach toaster/toaster oven combo despite it having the ridiculous name "Toastation." Each time I saw the commercial I would turn to my husband and say, "How do they do it?"

It seemed like such a genius idea: toaster on the top, toaster oven on the bottom, lots of leftover counter space. Simple but perfect.



My husband, being the good husband that he is, eventually drove to KMart to buy one for me. A few hours later, he drove back to KMart to return the item for a full refund.

Three seconds out of the box and I discovered "how they do it." They don't. Well, not really.

Technically, I suppose you could call the lower half a "toaster oven" but the space is so small it's only good for making...toast. Essentially, I now had a giant appliance that allowed me to make toast in two completely different ways...horizontal and vertical.

Suddenly, the name "Toastation" made a lot of sense.

Hotel Hell

There's something strange about staying in a hotel that hasn't been renovated in decades. Even a Mennonite would walk into this room and say, "This place could use some updating." (For some reason, my imaginary Mennonite sounds a lot like Jackie Mason.)

We have no window...or clocks. It's like we've checked into a sensory deprivation tank. I now know what it will be like to live in a post-nuclear war bunker.

We're in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, smack dab in the middle of Amish country. I've been here many times in the past but never in winter. During the summer months, spotting Amish is as easy as seeing a celebrity at the Academy Awards. In March, they are nowhere to be found. I suppose they're all indoors quilting or whittling or procreating or whatever it is Amish people do when there are no fields to plow.

At least we can drive around town without getting stuck behind a buggy.

It's amazing to me that the Amish can retain their culture and way of life while living within the United States. Whenever I hear folks complain about how America is negatively impacting the way of life in other parts of the globe, I think about the Amish.

The Amish may lose 25% of their population to the modern world, but that means 75% stay. Three quarters of their ranks resist television, automobiles and computers. Hell, three quarters of their ranks resist buttons! If the Amish can trot past a Fuddruckers without stopping in, Parisians can stroll past McDonalds.



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