Oh, Sweet Jesus!

From Salon.com today. It seems that Bill Donohue, the President of the Catholic League who perpetually has his panties in a wad, has found a new target. The artist Cosimo Cavallaro has a new piece in an exhibit at Lab Gallery in New York. It’s called “My Sweet Lord” and is a 6-foot tall chocolate Jesus.

LOVE it! Wanna lick it. Can’t wait for the next communion. (Might I recommend a nice California zinfandel as the sacramental wine? It would pair well with chocolate Jesus.)

Now apparently, this isn’t a reference to a black Jesus, the controversial theory that sends Southern Baptists into apoplexy—which makes me all for it. No, I’m guessing the symbolism is fairly simplistic. But Padre Donohue thinks it’s “one of the worst assaults on Christian sensibilities ever.” REALLY?!?!?

You’d put a chocolate Jesus up there with Roman lions and Spanish inquisitors and Tammy Faye Bakker? (And I won’t even begin to talk about the “Christian” assaults on MY sensibilities.)

But chocolate Jesus? I mean, don’t all churchgoers, especially Catholics, eat a representation of Christ every Sunday?!?! Isn’t that what the priest means when he says, “body of Christ” before he sticks his wafer in your mouth. (Get your minds out of the gutter---there’s not room for both of us there!)

Donohue finds the whole thing tasteless, especially just before Easter. Oh, yeah. Easter. The holiday where we celebrate the DEATH and RESURRECTION of our “Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” by hiding plastic eggs, dressing in pastels and eating CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNIES! So, shut the hell up, dude. You know you make an easter basket every year—and there ain’t one thing Jesus-y in there!

And “tasteless?” You better have another lick.

Chicks with Dixie

So, I finally had the opportunity to watch the Dixie Chicks documentary, “Shut Up and Sing.” I had every intention of paying good money to go see it in a theater, but for some odd reason, the Austin engagement was brief and poorly publicized. Having seen all the promotional hype during initial release, I actually had intended for my comments to be the very first post on AOTSP. But, here we are, months later. And with a whole lotta stupid under our belt.

The thing that struck me now, as it did during the actual brouhaha over Natalie Maines' (first amendment protected) comments, was how fucking ignorant her critics are. Don’t get me wrong, I truly believe that people had every right to be upset with her comments (even though I agreed with them—and I’m a fifth generation Texan), but it was how they expressed it that truly flummoxed me.

The best example was the sort of dirty-hot redneck guy who was protesting at a concert. He was holding up the requisite poster board and magic marker sign these pious righty zealots create. Signs that any self-respecting homeless person would immediately dismiss as ineffectual and with NO emotional call to action.

Anyhoo, this guy says that if you like the Dixie Chicks then you are a communist.

That. Bugs. The. Shit. Out. Of. Me. But ya gotta love those Alabama public schools, right? Apparently they spend so much time harping on the second amendment that they forget the first? The FIRST, motherfucker, i.e. before second. And I know math is hard when you’re inbred, but what could be MORE American than the FIRST fucking amendment??!!?

And don’t even get me started on the whole “communist = devil” theory. I GUARANTEE you that not one in a hundred crackers could expound on Marxist theory. They just know that if you ain’t with us, you’re a COMMIE.

Hey Dumbass! Chew on this: What the Dixie Chicks did was the ultimate act of Freedom and the American Way. And that’s supported by the exact same document that guarantees you the right to keep and bear arms (while you ignore the rest of the statement about it being necessary for “a well-regulated militia,” not just because your truck came with a gun rack. And while I’m heading down this rabbit hole, just let me say that all you NRA motherfuckers who talk about prying your guns from “your cold, dead hands.” Cool. All for it. Who wants that as an action item?)

Ed.Note: I am a Life Member of the NRA. It was given to me on my tenth birthday by my John Birch-er pappy. And it’s like the Cosa Nostra. Once you’re in, you really can’t get out. I’ve tried. At least I’ve moved enough that their creepy magazine can’t find me anymore.

So back to the Chicks and hot redneck. He was joined by a fat ass white trash mama who was trying to make her toddler say “screw the Dixie Chicks.” I’m sure the little girl’s first words were “more fried chicken” or “meth lab.” Bless her heart. I’m sure she’s destined for a pair of EZ OFF Daisy Dukes and a series of back seat Big Red spills.

The scariest part though, is when these people don’t like something, their response is “kill ‘em!” And they have guns, so it’s not like they don’t have the means. And, in spite of their limited reasoning skills, these sheep fuckers have the loooooongest memory. They still call Jane Fonda “Hanoi Jane.”

I hope that doesn’t mean there’s going to be a Dixie Chicks aerobics video.

One Final Word on Anna Nic

So the autopsy showed that she had SIX different sedatives in her system when she died. Apparently that’s one more than she took for public appearances.

Honk If You Love Sorority Girls

So, I had to make a quick run to the hardware store (before you start thinking I’ve gone all butch on ya, let me clarify—I was buying a prop for a shoot) and my route took me right through the heart of West Campus, the predominantly student neighborhood just west of the University of Texas.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have an intense love/hate relationship with sorority girls. They drive me batshit crazy with their inanity. but provide me with ENDLESS fodder for the types of things I write about on here.

In fact, one of my favorite/least favorite (see it’s that love/hate thing) travel stories came from observing two sorority girls at the Louvre, in their full blown “um, like” mode. They were staring at a painting intently, when one turned to the other and said, in her best airhead, OMG voice, “Is that baroque or rococo?” But I digress.

So, as I turn on a primary street through sororityville, this young woman separates herself from her gaggle (or is it her pride?) and, because she’s talking on her cell phone, walks RIGHT OUT INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING STREET. She never took a single glance in either direction.

Being an all-around good guy and model citizen, I stealthily crept my car right up to her ass and LAID ON THE HORN!!! She, of course, jumped out of her skin and glared at me as if I had done something wrong.

I used a combination of gestures and mouthed words to communicate “Street. Car. Hello!” She rolled her eyes and shook her hair, as if to say, “Sha!” and continued on her merry way.

I continued on my merry way, visions of road kill in my head. And an evil grin on my face.

Fetal Attraction

You know, I don’t always want this blog to have a gay slant. Even though I did go to the Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter School of Bad Wigs and Bitchery. But it is my calling to root out hypocrisy wherever it may rear its ugly head. And in this case, trust me, this guy’s ugly head is shoved all the way up his own rear.

As you all know, we can always count on the Southern Baptists for a good laugh. Or a good scare. Usually both at the same time.

Last week, The Rev. R. Albert Mohler, Jr. posted a groundbreaking bit of progressive wisdom on his website. Then promptly lit it on fire. Seems the Good Rev. is telling his flock to prepare for irrefutable scientific evidence that homosexuality is genetic. Wha? But, Reverend Mohler, Jr, that would make it God’s will, right?

Don’t bet your electroshock therapy on it. See RAM, Jr. thinks it’s the perfect time to get people talking about “fixing” their unborn child’s homosexuality. In the womb. Pre-birth.

Okay, DOUBLE WHA?!?!?! Let me get this straight. You’re saying it’s okay to mess with an unborn fetus? To satisfy your own moral agenda?

So that means you support a woman’s right to choose? Oh no! The sanctity of life is precious and begins with a kiss on a first date, or in the case of the Baptists, a first dance.

Stem cell research? HELL no! Can’t sully the sanctity of the womb for a little ground-breaking life-saving medicine (practically VOODOO), now can we?

But if it’s a GAY baby, do what it takes, doc! Poke. Prod. Experiment. (sounds just like gay grownups). Besides, everyone knows life for gays doesn’t begin until midnight.

I have to say that I’m pleased that our country is starting to react to these fuckwad crazies appropriately—by making them the butt of jokes. See, it’s only when we take them seriously that they gain traction. So, thanks for the laugh, you sick bastard. And if by some strange chance the means to change a baby’s sexual orientation comes about, just remember one thing: There are lots of people who will be switching their straight babies gay. Now, if we could just find that “idiot off” switch.

In the case of Crazy v. Delusional

In legal briefs (I LOVE that phrase), it seems our wannabe babydaddy, Prince Frederic von Anhalt is suing Bill O'Reilly and his network, FOX. Apparently, O’Reilly (think HE’LL be wearing green tomorrow?) called the Prince a “fraud” on his incendiary talk show. In court filings, von Anhalt said “takes one to know one.”

As you all know from previous posts, von Anhalt is pursuing paternity of little Princess Dannielynn and is also married to 90-something Zsa Zsa Gabor (although her official biography lists her as 69).

From CNN.com: "Look, this guy's a fraud," O'Reilly said, according to a transcript of the show posted on the network's Web site. "We know he's a fraud. But let's -- what I want to talk about is -- he's done. His credibility is -- is finished." Ahh, the expert on credibility has spoken. (BTW, If you needed any further evidence that the stupid people are actually gaining ground, it would be FOX news and Bill OhReally.)

According to the Prince, people are giving him dirty looks at the grocery store. He does his own grocery shopping? How “of-the-people.” You’d never see Wills or Harry Windsor popping ‘round to Whole Foods.

"They say, 'Look, here comes the fraud,"' he said. (Use an affected Bavarian accent when you read that)

Dude. Prince. They’re not saying that because they watched O’Reilly. Those are Zsa Zsa’s friends.

When the Smart Set Came to Town

I had such high hopes for this week. Here in our lovely little city, the SXSW music/media/interactive/film festival is going on. And I thought it would be a goldmine of stupid people doing stupid things. Instead, I keep running into cool little bits of smart. Bands playing in parking lots. Smart, albeit drunken, conversations of the merits of one film vs. another. Interestingly dressed people milling about the streets, creating a buzz that makes Austin feel a little bit more alive.

Add in that it’s spring break and most of the conservative family types (you know the ones who gather on Sundays to put their hands over their ears and chant, “la la la la la, I’m not listening . . .”) have all packed up the private jets and jumbo SUVs and headed off to terrorize the locals elsewhere.

Could it be? Do I really have nothing to complain about? I mean, sure, there’s plenty in the news to make fun of. The Bushies are doing their usual dance. Rove and Gonzales have stepped in it once again. Turns out we’ve already caught the mastermind behind 9/11 and most of the other high-level terrorist threats (wonder what the “alert level” is now? Cool blue? Isn’t it just like a mood ring?). The Christian right is ranting about the “immorality” of gays in the military---no, wait, that was a General. And of course, after the fact, said he was only speaking about his “personal” beliefs. Dude, I’m pretty sure you weren’t at that press conference in your private role. Doof. I wonder if he knows that his last name, Pace, is the word the Italian gay rights movement uses in it’s cause. It’s smack in the middle of all their rainbow flags. (It’s the little things that make me smile!)

Maybe I should have blogged on some of this stuff after all. Oh, well. After the SPIN party.

When Smart People Do Stupid Things, Part XXC

So, I’m a waffler. Sue me. But I kept thinking that someone would jump on a soapbox and scream at the top of his or her lungs about how wrong-headed this item is.

On March 2nd, the NAACP gave out their Image Awards.

One of those went to Isaiah Washington of Grey’s Anatomy. The very same Isaiah Washington who was recently in rehab for his “faggot” addiction. OOOOO-Kay?!?!?

Granted, it was an acting award. But I can’t believe that a group that has fought for equality for so long would honor an individual who has been so vilified for his bigotry. The website for the NAACP Image Awards opens with a little Flash presentation that says, in part, “Tradition. Liberty. The Ideals of Civil and Human Rights.” Hmmm.

The site also says, “Presented annually, the NAACP Image Awards is the nation’s premier event celebrating the outstanding achievements and performances of people of color in the arts as well as those individuals or groups who promote social justice.” Bravo to that.

And then the kicker, “Ideas and images create the belief systems that control our individual and societal actions. When it comes to forming ideas, reinforcing stereotypes, establishing norms and shaping our thinking nothing affects us more than the images and concepts delivered into our lives on a daily basis by television and film.” Couldn’t agree more. But if Rosie O’Donnell called someone a “nigger” she’d be fired. And properly vilified. And cast out. NOT rewarded for being a good Gay role model.

I can guarantee you that no Gay and Lesbian organization would EVER give an award to someone who had used the “n-word” in the same fashion that Mr. Washington did. As the African-American community is well aware, pejoratives such as these have no place in contemporary society. I actually wish they weren’t even used in the co-opted sense.

The NAACP owes the Gay and Lesbian community an apology. And they should retract Mr. Washington’s accolade. You can’t talk out of both sides of your mouth. You can’t decry hate and award it at the same time. You just can’t.

Posted without comment.

Came across a headline that I thought was full of possibilities. Thought it might be fun to give you a turn to snark.

Per CNN.com:

"Shark rips flesh from surfing lawyer's arm"

Let the frenzy begin.

A Little Friday Fun

As you can tell from the title of the previous post, I always think of The Grinch when I think of Newt. Sophomoric, I know, but c'mon--it's ME! So for you Friday pleasure, I reproduce the lyrics to one of my all-time favorite holiday classics.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch

Author: Dr. Seuss

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.


You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.


You're a monster, Mr. Grinch.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. Grinch.


I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.


You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. Grinch.


Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crockodile.


You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gunk.
Mr. Grinch.


The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."


You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot
With moldy purple spots,
Mr. Grinch.


Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.


You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. Grinch.


You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool
sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

Copyright © 1957, Dr. Seuss.

Eye of Newt, Heart of (gin)Grinch

Okay, so first off I have to confess that I am a die hard Bill Clinton fan. I know that’s not a universal sentiment among you, dear readers, but it’s true. He was to me what Reagan apparently (and bafflingly) continues to be for Red Staters.

I share Chris Rock’s sentiment, expressed in the midst of the Lewinsky scandal. I paraphrase, “Bill Clinton has the country in such good shape, we should ALL give him a blow job.” In fact, I think a certain current President could use one. Unfortunately the only thing Laura sucks on are Marlboros. Like a chimney. Oh, you didn’t know she was a chain smoker? Maybe that’s because the Republicans only show us the sides of themselves that reflect their shaky platform of family values.

Which leads me to the delightful revelations that Newt Gingrich had an affair going on at the same time he was excoriating Clinton. The article (all to brief, I might add), in a variety of online outlets today, is a study in how Republicans dodge these bullets.

When asked directly about it, his response was "The honest answer is yes. There are times that I have fallen short of my own standards. There's certainly times when I've fallen short of God's standards." Which, of course, they know ALL about, since they’re God’s self-anointed hall monitors.

I’d guess Gingrich was also referring to his two messy divorces, the first from his HIGH SCHOOL GEOMETRY TEACHER (no it wasn’t Mary Kay LeTourneau). The second because he was having an affair with a congressional aide 20 years his junior.

Not that any of this comes a surprise, of course. The Moral Majority was about as legitimate as Compassionate Conservatism.

Which I guess is what Gingrich was practicing when he insisted on discussing divorce proceedings with his first wife while she lay in her hospital bed recovering from cancer surgery. Nice.

Of course, Gingrich doesn’t think he should be viewed as a hypocrite for persecuting Clinton. See, Clinton LIED. "I drew a line in my mind that said, 'Even though I run the risk of being deeply embarrassed, and even though at a purely personal level I am not rendering judgment on another human being, as a leader of the government trying to uphold the rule of law, I have no choice except to move forward and say that you cannot accept ... perjury in your highest officials."

Hmmm. “perjury in your highest officials.” I’m reminded of the bumper sticker: Nobody Died When Clinton Lied.

Give Him an Inch . . .

I’m really not sure what to think about this one. See, there’s this piece on Salon.com today, written by a former gay porn star, which is a punchline all unto itself. Mostly because the phrase “You like that, dontcha?” doesn’t crop up once. See, THIS former gay porn star is a student at Columbia. And he writes really well. I don’t necessarily agree with him, but wait, it gets better.

So he’s an Ivy League former gay porn star (I think I saw that one!). And he’s Latino. And he’s Republican. See where it starts to get hinky? And to top it off, he was actually in attendance at the Klan Rally (also known as the CPAC conference) where Ann Coulter called John Edwards a “faggot.” THEN he had his picture taken with her. (I don’t know, maybe he thought she was a man in drag, too!)

In his story, he takes to task “liberal, left-wing media” whom he later clarifies as “bloggers.” (Does this mean I can get media credentials now? Woo hoo!) for outing him. Apparently, a couple of bloggers recognized him from his previous line of work and called him out on it. One of the bloggers even dated him at some point.

Oh, I also forgot to mention that he’s an Army Reservist who has been an outspoken supporter of the war. And he’s 37, so porn, as a career, is way behind him. (I haven’t seen his movies—his career may have always been behind him.)

Now, assuming he didn’t just submit a Xerox of his 11-inch schlong as his application to Columbia, let’s operate under the presumption that he is also well endowed between his ears.

Or not.

See, he attributes this invasion of his privacy to the proliferation of search engines, because now anybody can dig up your past. DUDE, you were a porn star. That’s not a particularly private past. And I don’t really think your problem is getting googled.

I get that you want to be appreciated for your mind, but I can think of 11 reasons why that’s probably not going to happen. And blaming the internet is like me blaming tequila for . . . well, that’s beside the point. I blame tequila for a lot of things. Anyway, it’s good to know that the Big Tent of the Republican party has a place for a 37-year-old-Latino-Ivy League-former-porn-star-soldier-apologist-packing-a-footlong. I’m guessing it’s right between Ted Haggard and Mark Foley.

Isn't That a Gay Theme Park?

Must be hard to be a run-of-the-mill Christian these days, what with all the wacky evangelicals walking around like they own the joint. (And don’t you love that the very name they apply to themselves sounds like evil, angels and the jellicles from Cats all rolled into one.) Especially the Southern Baptists, who somehow, between endorsing slavery and condemning dancing, have managed to find a new target—Rudy Giuliani.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m no Rudy lover. But I think he is the beneficiary of one of the worst tragedies ever to befall our country. I thought he led New York ably and presented a strong, yet tender face during the 9/11 crisis. And I don’t think that qualifies him to lead our country.

Apparently our Southern Baptist friends agree, but not for the same reason. See, Rudy is divorced. Twice. And he was boinking his current wife while he was still married to his previous one. (Which pretty much guarantees him Donald Trump’s support).

Richard Land (“Dick Land is YOUR land, Dick Land is MY land”), head of public policy for the SB’s, thinks Giuliani was mean to his ex-wife and children in the divorce proceedings. “I mean, this is divorce on steroids," Land said. "To publicly humiliate your wife in that way, and your children. That's rough. I think that's going to be an awfully hard sell, even if he weren't pro-choice and pro-gun control." Even if he weren’t pro-choice and pro-gun control?!?!? Doesn't either one of those automatically disqualify him from the ballot in Red States?

But see, Dick has to tap dance (insert dick tap dancing joke here). Because the Evil-angel-jellicle darling, John McCain, is ALSO divorced and remarried (which I’m pretty sure warrants a good stoning in Southern Baptist doctrine. And I love a good stoning.) But McCain’s a war hero, which apparently means some sort of free pass. “It's a molehill compared to Giuliani's mountain," Dick Land said. "When you're a war hero, you have less to prove on the character front."

What about when you’re just a hero in an act that leads to war? Doesn’t that count? Dick? Guess not.

In other words, being locked in a hell hole for a couple of years abrogates future sin? Maybe Rudy should let the SB’s know what it was like being married to Donna Hanover.

Who says you can't buy class?

Okay, so the megamillions lotto is at a ridiculously high $355 million. It reminds me of several stories of shallow-enders collecting big paydays at the expense of the rest of us. My friend NOLAGUY used to work in a high-end steakhouse, where a band of yokels gathered to celebrate the winnings. The sister of the winner (think Carol Burnett in Mama’s Family), wanted to know what wine they were drinking and “how much is it?” She was informed that it was roughly $150 a bottle. A bit later, my friend caught her drinking the dregs from other people’s glasses. Nice.

My other favorite is the young lady who was a bartender at a VFW hall. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, it’s usually an old airplane hangar or barn where old alcoholics convene to share/slur war stories. Anyhoo, the young lass had made nary a tip all this Saturday night, when, to her extreme excitement, her numbers matched the winners. She promptly walked off the job, RENTED A CADILLAC and drove to Austin to collect her winnings. Only to discover that the lottery offices were closed until Monday. I’m sure she slept in the Cadillac. Probably not the first time she’d been in the backseat of a nice car, waiting for a payout.

I share all of this because tomorrow, my loyal readers, I will join the ranks of the white trash winners. I’m sure of it. I feel it. I have a ticket. And I’ve reserved a Cadillac.

You see, I’m one of those scary people who actually has a plan for my lotto winnings. Big, fabulous plans. I wouldn’t piss it away like some West Virginian coal miner investing in a canary aviary. No, I’d be like Madeline Kahn in High Anxiety, with my Louis Vuitton jumpsuit getting out of my Louis Vuitton logo-covered Cadillac. (If you haven’t seen this Mel Brooks classic, rent it right away. It is Madeline Kahn at her funniest.) I’d wear caftans and way too much jewelry and hit on the mailman. My beloved would slap my hand, then hand me a bourbon to take the sting away. We’d drink and laugh. Mostly at the “little people.” I’d get shiny veneers that were too big for my mouth, making it look like they’d been badly photoshopped onto me and I’d have a back waxer on the payroll.

In the words of Ludacris (via Fergie), “lifestyle so rich and famous Robin Leach would get jealous.” I’d be glamour on a stick. The old gay version of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen (the grown up fashionistas, not the cloying child stars/stunt doubles).

Ahh, luxury.

So, of course, chances are I’ll wake up tomorrow and NOT be $355 million richer. I wonder if I can swing a caftan and the bourbon on a blogger’s salary?

She's a MAN, baby!

So, let’s talk about Ann Coulter, shall we? And let’s use the ugliest words we can think of.

Nazi Bitch.

Bony Ass.

Wanker.

Unpretty.

And perhaps most accurately, Media Whore.

You see, Ms. Coulter has this annoying habit of saying whatever it takes to get her name in the paper and her face on TV. Anything. Like calling John Edwards a “faggot,” then saying that she doesn’t hate gay people and wouldn’t insult them by comparing them to John Edwards.

She’s incendiary. She REALLY likes to stir the pot. Because she really likes the spotlight. And she understands that a liberal, leggy blonde is nothing unique. The master race incarnate is another story altogether.

Unlike most of the featured people on my blog. Ms. Coulter isn’t stupid. But her audiences are. They live in fear of anyone who doesn’t look, smell or think like they do. And they eat up her shtick.

I find it deeply ironic that people are defending her right to free speech. I guarantee you these are the same people who burned their Dixie Chicks albums. I guess they use the Constitution like they use the Bible. Selectively. And when it suits them.

I think the part I find most amusing is that Ann Coulter looks like a man in drag. Not a drag queen. Calling Ann Coulter a drag queen would be an insult to drag queens. No Ann looks like so many of those crossdressing guys who advertise on craigslist ISO a thrill. But putting on a cheap blonde wig and a leather mini-skirt doesn’t make you look like a woman. In fact, it just REALLY emphasizes the MAN in woMAN.

In fact, maybe that’s what we should call her. Man Coulter. Kind of sounds like a porn name. On second thought, how about we all just ignore her. Maybe she’ll go away.

God bounces check . . . and other stupid banking news.

I’m one of those people who thinks online banking is the coolest thing ever. Why? Because now I hardly ever have to stand in line at the real bank, behind people for whom filling out a deposit slip is more challenging than the math section of the SAT.

As I perused the news, I shuddered to think what would have happened had I been banking in Hobart, Indiana or Acworth, Georgia this week. First to our Southern sister. Now we all know that Georgia isn’t a hotbed of brainiacs. In fact, some would argue that there’s something about the state that just dumbs you down. Ask Whitney Houston. And her doody bubble.

Maybe it’s the humidity.

So, two blondes walk into a bank. And giggle while they rob it. Their “disguise?” Designer sunglasses. Now, girls, I know you read People Magazine and Vogue. When you see pictures of Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson—hell, ANY of the Jessicas—and they’re wearing GIGANTIC sunglasses, do you go, “Who’s that?” Okay, you probably do. But NORMAL people say, “Hey, look at those giant specs Paris is wearing. Are those Chanel?”

My point is—SUNGLASSES ARE NOT A DISGUISE. Unless they have a plastic nose and mustache attached to them. But I digress. The two girls are named ASHLEY and HEATHER-- Jesus/God, could they have MORE stereotypical blonde names? (apologies to my friend HOK, who is one of the smartest people I know. Anomaly.)

As they giggle (apparently, it’s a secret blonde language, which also includes uptalking and the all purpose, “ohmigod!”) they hand the teller a note demanding money. He gives it to them, along with his phone number, I’m sure. The whole episode is caught on the bank camera. Turns out the teller was in on the job. Everyone's caught. All go to jail. Heather and Ashley will now find a new level of popularity among the female inmate population. OMG!


Moving a little further north, WHO KNEW that Jehovah banked in Indiana. Wow! I can’t believe that bank doesn’t use Him in a testimonial or something. You see, a 21-year old named Kevin Russell tried to cash a $50,000 check from God himself at the Chase Bank in Hobart.

According to the detective on the case, the check was signed “King Savior, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Servant.” Okay, dude, first mistake—God doesn’t really use all of his titles when he's banking. You don’t see Elizabeth Windsor signing HER checks, “Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith," do ya? No. A Simple “Elizabeth R” does the trick. Of course, her face IS on the money.

Second, I bet God does his banking online.

But Mr. Kevin Russell apparently rode to the bank on the short bus. He didn’t have a prayer of cashing that check.

Gimme a . . . !

Somebody shoot me. Seriously. My friend Julie forwarded an item to me about a Texas woman’s quest to open a Cheerleading Hall of Fame. The worst part: She heard it on NPR!!! I’m not sure whether to giggle or yak.

Apparently, Cindy Villareal-Hughes, a former Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader (c’mon now—you KNOW that’s the top of the cheerleading pyramid) feels “the timing is ripe for a Hall of Fame.” Ripe. That’s what that smell is! Seriously, though, y’all, this could be, like, soooo cool and really give lots of girls and gayboys a role model. FIRE UP!!

So what exactly would be in a cheerleading hall of fame? I could probably list three or four cheerleaders from high school, but other than that I couldn’t name a cheerleader to save my life. I will have even forgotten Cindy by the time this is posted.

You know, when I was in high-school, the head cheerleader ended up marrying the basketball coach. Of course, the Valedictorian ended by marrying the assistant principal, too, so what does that tell you?
Maybe this Hall of Fame will have a display on that!

Seriously, though, what? “Herkies Through the Ages?” “Splits and Tumbles?” “Petty Bitchery?” Will there be sepia-toned photos of iconic Ivy League yell leaders with accompanying audio from little tinny speakers? We could hear George W. Bush misspell F-I-H-G-T! (although he obviously learned how to spell it at some point.)

According to Cindy (I can’t bring myself to call a cheerleader by her last name—sorry) potential locations are: the “Dallas area” (read: Farmers Branch); Orlando; Kentucky and Ohio. Way to narrow it down, there Cindy. You do realize that you’ve picked two cities and two states, right? Of course you do. You passed Geology.

Several other sites have been considered and rejected. Reasons for not making the short, vague list included: “Too fat”, “too ugly,” “not popular,” and “slut.”