Hey! No Fair!

TMZ.com informs us via CNN that the Heiress They Call Paris has neither slept (GASP!) nor eaten (SWOON!) since her admission to the crazy folks end of a Los Angeles jail. This does not bother us. We would suggest that normal weekend behavior for the Pantiless Princess includes shaving her noni, spraying on a tan, and avoiding anything resembling a solid calorie.

Again - just speculating here - but isn't it entirely probable that she who put the "Tit" in Entitlement has spent most weekends wide awake? The only difference between those weekends and this one is the thread count of the sheets she's not sleeping on. Poor baby is evidently beyond distraught. This, too, does not bother us.

But we cried an audible "FOUL!" when we learned that she is getting "psychoactive" pills to help her pass the time in the joint. For you newbies - that's the good stuff. That's the stuff that will turn your world on with a smile. It can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile. You feel like love is all around, why not just take it? No need to fake it! Psychoactive drugs convince you that... well... darn it... You're gonna make it, after all. This development bothers us greatly.

We believe that psychoactive, feel-good remedies should be reserved for those moments where one is expected to be enjoying themselves. We made our list and checked it twice and are convinced that JAIL is not one of those places. This is like getting an open bar in your cell - only better. No need to bang your cup on the bars to get some surly lesbian to bring you ice or olives. Down the hatch - chew or swallow. Ten minutes, tops.... you're on the Riviera banging Fidel Castro and not in the psych ward of a Los Angeles jail.

Mostly, we don't like depleting the supply of psychoactive drugs that should be available for mediocre social encounters. And we detest the notion that this foul-mouthed, classless, poster child for retroactive abortion gets so much as a Tylenol to take the edge off her experience.

What we have here is a conspiracy to keep this child from learning anything ever. In a precious few years, she will be middle-aged, ocularly unbalanced and completely lacking inherent self-control. That, I suppose, would put her in line to be her mother.

Funny how quickly the Bush twins have moved up the Most Likely To Succeed ladder, isn't it?

No Experience Required

Normally, you need a degree in Political Science, Military Mayhem, or something similar to figure these things out. That's why we have politicians. And FOX. They tell us what to think when we couldn't possibly figure things out for ourselves.

Today's headline in the morning paper repeated yesterday's news that Gen. Peter Pace, current chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and highest ranking military officer, would not get another shot at making shit up as he goes in front of Congress. Now, that was just mean.

We should say that he won't get a second chance to repeat the administration's lies with a straight face in front of Congress. We give Pace the benefit of the doubt on this one. Hell, they got Colin Powell to gut his entire future for Gee Dub's Folly. Whose arm wouldn't they twist?

The genius part of the commentary associated with this - and the part that normally requires high-level analysis, lengthy public service, and an alphabet soup of initials after one's name - is what Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates, had to say about the development. You see...until just the other night, Pace was still Gates' guy. If this had happened in our social circle, we would be speculating that somebody walked in on somebody with somebody - but this isn't like that. Well...we don't think it's like that. They won't let us in the military, how would we know? (Official After Therapy Statement Of Clarification: We Don't Want In. Send Your Own Damn Kids If You Like War.)

No, Sec. Gates (aka The Man Who Isn't Rumsfeld Anymore) says that he was notified by Congressional leaders on both sides of the aisle that Pace's confirmation hearing would be overwhelmed by the Iraq War's past and not its future. Chew on that one for a minute.

Apparently, Secretary Gates had high hopes for a Miss Cleo, Sylvia Browne, crystal ball process where Iraq is concerned. Since we have nothing much to talk about in the future tense regarding Iraq, by necessity, we will have to focus on what has gone down (and out..and wrong...and awry...and...and) up to now. That's the past. Those are the things we can analyze. For our Republican friends and loyal readers, we call that "history". It's the things that have really happened that aren't written in the Bible. It's fairly new. But we like it.

There's a theory that's been bandied about over the last couple of centuries that those who do not remember or who fail to understand "history" are doomed to repeat it. It's just a theory. But you gotta admit...it seems to hold some water. Regrettably, Secretary of Defense Gates wants no part of "history" in the discussion about who should lead the military going forward. We get that. They don't have anything good to talk about unless you count dragging Saddam out of a curiously-placed hole, ripping his head off, and the botched photo-op of Our Very Finest rubbing an Amurrican flag in a statue's face before we helped them pull it from its moorings.

So on we move. The next victim/liar/pawn/obfuscator/perpetrator to carry this failed president's water on Iraq should be Navy Admiral Mike Mullen. We're developing a theory at After Therapy that the chairman of the Joint Chiefs is chosen from among those men whose first and last names begin with the same letter. We have a standing offer of $0.50 to anyone who can send us documentation of senior military officials changing their names to avoid the Repeating Initials phenomenon. Our theory makes at least as much sense as any other. Who, in their ever-lovin' right mind, would volunteer to drive this train for the last 1,000 feet of its 50,000 feet plunge off the cliff?

We're convinced beyond all discussion that this is one of those jobs from which you are automatically disqualified by virtue of your willingness to do it. (Like being Paris Hilton's attorney, for example.) But on we will go, with a keen eye to whether Admiral Mullen can navigate the Senate confirmation process and avoid talking about anything that has happened in Iraq up to now. We rather thought this was at the root of the entire Gee Dub Problem: failure to know and understand what the past can teach us. Now we get a primo opportunity to confirm the idea, if not the Admiral.

Meanwhile, back on Capitol Hill, People Who Matter are buzzing about whether Hillary gave her folks a sugar-coated veneer when she autobiographized herself. It's good to know somebody has their eye on the really important things this time around.

Meanwhile, Back At The Hilton...

The Hilton, it appears, is booked.

No, she can't phone it in. No, she can't do a few lines of blow to take the edge off. No, she can't ride in the limo. No, she can't ride in the front seat and play with the siren. And, if there is any logic in the world, her mother cannot come to yell at the Little People this time around.

Having viewed the documents wherein the sentencing judge specifically forbade house arrest, early release, electronic monitoring, city-as-opposed-to-county jail, one wonders which of the Sheriff's Deputies Kathy Hilton, (W-POOP: Worst Parent On Our Planet), spread her canola-oiled thighs for to get her out of jail in the dead of night recently.

CNN holds out the prospect of said Sheriff being held in contempt-of-court for having released Hilton due to her general distaste for prison orange and a dermatological reaction to jail soap. We contend that any Sheriff - even in L.A. - who would take it upon himself to usurp the legal system in this way should not ONLY be held in contempt, but should find himself schlepping Louis Vuitton luggage at one of the lower-scale Hiltons in suburban L.A., forever banned from the Law Enforcement Profession.

This judge, on the other hand, has gone a long, long way toward restoring the integrity of the judicial system after what Judge Ito (O.J.: Not Guilty) perpetrated on the venerable profession. This is not at all about snubbing one's nose at a suspended driver's license citation. This is about privilege. If little Paris ends up anywhere but solitary confinement rotting in her own soiled panties (this presumes a previous lesson learned), minority communities across the West have every reason to re-Rodney King the joint.

Kudos to The Only President We Got for taking advantage of the media frenzy to announce the departure of the latest replacement architect of the Iraqi War. Without doubt, the man is stupid, but no one can accuse him of missing an opportunity when it's presented. Peter Pace will go by September with a healthy amount of blood on his hands and lies on his conscience. His book should hit the shelves by Christmas. He'll lay all blame for all his obfuscation before congress at the feet of Gee Dub, but at the end of the day, as Americans, we must stop using, "He told me to" as an excuse - even in military circles.

It's an invalid excuse for Paris Hilton. It's an invalid excuse for Peter Pace. And while these worlds could not seem further apart, the harmonic convergence of their fates couldn't prove a more valid point. If you did it, you own it.

In the spirit of Jerry Falwell, Don Wildmon and James Dobson, we would be remiss in not noting that all of the above flagrant violators of human decency and wisdom are heterosexual. What's good for the goose, they say....

Merriam Webster Alert: This Is Not House Arrest

Newsflash (as oppposed to pantiless flash): Paris Hilton spends barely over 48 hours in jail, gets credit for 5 days, will spend 40 days on "House Arrest". This is like characterizing the pampered ringers from The Apprentice as "under house arrest" inside Trump Tower's penthouse while filming his cancelled (did we say cancelled?) - we meant CANCELLED ratings toilet. She has a medical issue. She's allergic to jail. She also has flawed genes. The kind you get from your mother.

You should know that before Kathy Hilton spread her cocoa-buttered thighs for the Hilton hotel billions, she came in second place to Eve Plumb for the role of Jan Brady. If that doesn't explain everything, then I just can't help you here.

From Wikipedia: On May 4, 2007, she (Worst Parent On The Planet: W-POOP, Kathy Hilton) accompanied her daughter Paris Hilton to court for sentencing on a probation violation. When the city prosecutor commented that Paris deserved jail time, Kathy laughed. When the judge ruled, she then blurted out: "May I have your autograph?"

From People Magazine: "As the family was about to exit the courtroom, said Edwards, Kathy Hilton declared for all to hear, "[The judge] made up his mind before he even came in today. If it were anyone else, this would've never had happened." She (Mother Kathy) then exclaimed, "And after all the money we spent!"

From a statement read by Barbara Walters on The View: "Kathy Hilton wants young people to learn from her jail-bound daughter Paris..." Apparently, the W-POOP wants young people to learn that 2 days equals 5, that 40 days of House Arrest in a mansion where your 3,000-foot monitoring range barely takes you out of the kitchen, and that having your mother throw a hissy on your behalf - between swigs of Jug O' Wine - can all tilt justice in your favor.

Here is what Hilton House Arrest looks like - New York-style. The poor little girl with the brand new medical condition now has to stay within 3,000 feet of a phone jack in the WALDORF-ASTORIA HOTEL, which her daddy owns and her mommy put out to get. Paris was, in all likelihood, conceived within feet of where she will plug in her ankle bracelet to confirm that she is in one of the poshest hotels on the planet, not jail.

Its Web site calls it an "opulent suite of peerless elegance occupying the 28th-42nd floors of The Waldorf-Astoria" (which means the part regular rich folk can rent). Imagine the part the owners live in:

(HILTON HOUSE ARREST ---->)

This is where Mable, our town drunk, stays when she's on house arrest. See if you can spot the differences:

They say money can't buy you love. But it can buy you a husband, a hotel fortune, one hell of an enabling mommy, and a motherfucker of a house arrest.

Somebody just send these people to Iraq and bring back the people we wouldn't mind meeting on the street.

Pictures, Dammit!

This is, by our drug-addled calculation, day 3 of no hair products for one Ms. Paris (Don't Blame France) Hilton. We feel entitled to see what a gimpy-eyed troglodyte socialite looks like without spooge product in her hair.

And we know we're not alone. Someone on the inside of that festering cesspool of society's castoffs has a cellphone camera that they smuggled in with their poonaynay and we want to see this biotch at her livin' worst. We want the kneeling down, eating pussy, nappy headed, scrubbing toilets with her diamond-crusted toothbrush photo. And we will pay for it, too. Not a lot. But you're in friggin' prison! You think you have negotiating room? Please, Mary.

Nobody's even going to remember you ever lived once you're out of that joint. Just fork over the pic, we'll go away giddy and you can get back to giving head in the back of a conversion van in a major city's alleys. Or whatever white-collar crime you committed that landed you in the Hilton wing.

We also want this to be Radisson's new promotional flier. "Hilton? (pic of grotesque, cross-eyed Paris mumbling "Dass Hot" into some Negress's labia majora while scrubbing johns with her Tiffany toothbrush)." We Think Not. Radisson....where the heirs we put on don't end up in the joint."

We also want a pic of Kathy Hilton going on a hunger strike, just for good measure. We realize she's probably been on pure liquids since giving birth to this dual pox on humanity (if the reports of her Jug O' Wine fetish pan out), but still. Serves her right. Marry for money, expect nothing but trouble if you choose to procreate. (This rule does not apply to homosexuals who are welcome to marry -well, you know what we mean - but who will not accidentally procreate.)

We would also like to invite People Magazine, Us Weekly, The National Enquirer, Glamour, Cosmo, The Advocate, and Martha Stewart Living to have us over for a week each so we can guest-edit their Most Despicable Heterosexuals Of The Year Issue. I think this year is shaping up to be one son-of-a-bitch of a contest! Only if Lindsay Lohan actually does blow off that knife and then disembowels herself with same will this be a shoe-in year.

Stay tuned, my merry mo's. Mama's feelin' better, the fan is on, and the shit is about to fly! Happy Pride Month!

Snippets

Libby changes signature color from green to orange.


After a lifetime of making money off the backs of the American taxpayer, lying to protect some of the most abominable bi-peds for his entire life, and making a concerted effort to have a Bush critic's CIA agent wife outed - and offed - for not toeing the party lie, I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, will be scootin' his booty to the Federal Pokey (home not to the hokey pokey, but the rectal pokey, if we hear correctly).

A fine of $250,000 was levied against Libby, which if our 1971 calculator still works, is roughly the equivalent of a minimum wage worker giving up a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese once a month. He will also spend 30 months in federal prison capitalizing on Martha Stewart's cooking skills gleaned from similarly heinous acts(or just under 19 months, if a Bush pardon, as expected, is forthcoming).

If you purge your Christmas list, like we do, in June, here are names that appeared in support of Libby at his sentencing today: Mary Matalin (inexplicable spouse to James Carville), and Victoria Toensing, Deputy Assistant Attorney General under Reagan (presumably defending the Quite Dead President's honor and preparing his own posthumous defense). Those who wrote glowing recommendations for leniency in sentencing included International War Crimes Target, Donald Rumsfeld and Marine Gen. Peter Pace who lambasted the willing service of gays & lesbians in the ever-shrinking volunteer army and stands 4-square against immorality of all kinds - unless, of course, your buddy is trying to get a CIA operative outed and killed in order to keep your Commander In Chief from looking like the lying asshole he is. We get that. Go kill your own enemies, you prick. We have long memories. It's been almost 40 years and we still know when Judy Garland was buried.

Also on the Be Nice To Scooter list were Henry Kissinger, lackey to the ever-honorable Richard Nixon and former U.N. Ambassador John Bolton - a man so unpopular in his own country that he had to be snuck into the U.N. complex in the dead of night while Congress was out of session. This worked out well, since Bolton's unpopularity both at home and abroad were effectively addressed by the diplomatic immunity offered on the grounds of the United Nations.

The judge left open to public speculation whether any one of the 30 months to which Libby was sentenced is owed to the use of the name "Scooter" by a 56 year-old man. We're just guessing...

Mom, Can You Drop Me Off?

Kathy Hilton, the well-married, wine-swilling candidate for Worst Parent On Our Planet (W-POOP),dropped her well-coiffed pride and joy at jail for her brief contact with reality - sans Nicole Richie (who shouldn't be far behind). In a poke at public perception and a clear sign that some people are just too genetically inferior to feel shame, a waxen Hilton mugged in pin-stripes in a not-quite-Warhol scene that was 9 parts smarmy and 1 part classless as the queens at Madame Tussauds rushed to minimize her contribution to the downfall of western civilization. This irresponsible wart on the human condition really will have to kill someone before they remove her from the public eye.

We suggest putting the paparazzi to good use in this situation. Offer a $10,000 reward to anyone who sees the convict so much as eye-balling a car key. This could have a dual effect: Keep her away from the cameras and off the streets. You can't tell me New Yorkers wouldn't be grateful for a little more Mia Farrow and a little less....what's her name again?

Note to the Hotel Magnate Set: The next time you plan to name a kid after one of your properties, set the bar lower. Go for "Parking Garage", "Ball Room" or "Shallow End".

Guinea Pigs And Plain Ol' Pigs

Whoops! Look like we missed a day or so of posting random thoughts. That's the life of a guinea pig for you. We were decidedly perplexed upon learning of our acceptance into the clinical trial for the experimental drug, Maraviroc, yesterday. It had been unlikely from the beginning that our particular virus would be susceptible to it. And, frankly, we're not sure just how excited one should get about swallowing pills with yet-to-be-determined effects.

Then again, we swallowed lots of pills in dark bars in the 80's that could have been anything from Certs to Cyanide. So who are we kidding?

The specialist mentioned during our consultation over The Headache of 2007 that it would take a few days for test results to come back. It's been 8 days. We still have the headache (going into month #3), and no test results. If the man stood next to Tom Cruise, we wouldn't realize Tom Cruise was in the room. He's that good looking. So rather than bitch, we've been taking our Vicodin and having inappropriate thoughts about the man who put a foot-long Q-tip in our ear.

Three years ago, we let him straighten the septum, drill out the sinuses and take out some bones that we didn't realize were Just For Show. We realized what the big deal was over nasal breathing afterward. See...we hadn't done that before. Ever. The man is a god. And a good doctor, to boot. If we had fewer scruples, we'd shove things up our nose on a weekly basis just to see him regularly. You do that sort of thing for people you like. That's called establishing rapport".

Dick Cheney was dispatched to the Middle East this week to establish rapport in that area. That's what our newspaper said, "Cheney Seeks Rapport In Iraq". We called the Editor to make sure there hadn't been a typo: "Clooney" or "Sacks" or "Report" or "Colorado Springs", maybe. Nope. Sure enough, Our Only Vice-President, charmer that he is, was sent by Our Only President on a surprise good-will mission to Iraq. The surprise is not that he went. It's that anyone thought he was capable of good will. This is the guy who bit Matt Lauer's leg off in an interview for wishing him well in his pending grandpa-hood. Good will is not in his arsenal.

We were going to write something mildly humorous and scathing about sending people who have even less good will capacity than Cheney. But Leona Helmsley and Satan were all we came up with. It's hard to stretch that into a full paragraph. Looks like Cheney is treading into guinea pig waters himself. Maybe he's trying on a new leaf in his old age: niceness. Or humanity, perhaps. This kind of thing is catching in a syrupy Pay It Forward sort of way.

Now, Lindsay Lohan has been dispatched to high schools to seek sobriety among alcoholic teens. Paris Hilton has been dispatched to Driver's Ed to help 14 year-olds learn how to beat a bum DUI rap. O.J. will be offering marriage tips. Oprah will show us how to do the Virgin Islands on $10,000 a day. And John Edwards is the new spokesperson for SuperCuts.

Sometimes irony is funny. Sometimes it just reveals stupidity. Playing around with a new gig in hopes of stumbling on solutions is admirable. Throwing gasoline on the fire in your living room is not. Throwing it on the fire in someone else's living room is less so.

See the clock at the right of this screen and pray we don't all die of "rapport".

Yes, They're BABY Carrots, But...

A couple, aged 27 and 31, starved their infant by adhering to their strict Vegan neurosis. The child died at 6 weeks weighing 3 1/2 pounds. They received mandatory life sentences for their parenting skills. I'd list their names here, but for the remainder of their lives they'll be known by numbers not yet discovered by our crack research staff. Here's hoping what they say about child abusers in prison is fact and not just wishful thinking.

Note to people with food issues: If you want to turn your own gut to a boiling cauldron of methane, knock yourselves out. But if you kill your kid with the same techniques, you're going to eat burgers and chicken with everybody else up in The Big House. Happy now?

We contend this makes a solid case for licensing parents prior to reproduction. A simple questionnaire should suffice.

"True or false: A human being can survive on soy milk and apple juice." (Hint: That's all they gave the dead baby.)

While right-wing nuts yank children out of loving, stable homes with same-gendered parents, heterosexuals are filling up prisons faster than you can say, "I didn't hit her THAT hard." We know the evidence shows no negative impact on children who grow up in gay and lesbian households. We believe the evidence would show that a disproportionate number of heterosexuals are unfit parents. Who do you think produced all of the children in The System? It's not the two women who interviewed 50 men to find just the right sperm and then tried for three years to conceive. Think. Just.....think.

We confess that we harbor a bias that borders on ridicule against vegetarians of all stripes. But nobody gets a free pass on starving babies. The couple had the gall to beg for leniency prior to hearing their sentence. We believe they should be fed a strict diet of soy milk and apple juice until they resemble Somali refugees and have flies feeding in the corners of their eyes....until they die of their convictions. These folks are no less nuts than the religious zealots who refuse medical help for their children.

This makes a very good case for the redistribution of offspring. If you can't pass the exam, you can't keep your kids. So sorry. If you fail it twice, we're taking your ovaries/testicles - just to be sure.

We may be transforming into full-on socialists. The thought occurs to us that Paris Hilton makes a wonderful case for the redistribution of wealth from the terminally boorish to the have-nots. That ought to level the playing field a little bit and knock her off my computer screen permanently.

Since it was our idea....we're taking the first spot in the have-not line.

"I Didn't Mean To" Hall Of Fame

There are lots of things people don't "mean" to do. We have a list of our own unintentional acts a mile long. This week, however, we were treated to not one but two high-profile "I didn't mean to..." incidents.

First, as we know, former Wisconsin Governor and Republican Presidential Wannabe, Tommy Thompson, didn't mean to suggest that employers should have the right to fire gay employees simply for being gay. We assume the Governor is claiming the ever-popular Tourette's Defense, in which his brain simply failed to communicate effectively with his mouth. It happens. We firmly believe Ann Coulter's connection is permanently impaired. But it's the size of the stage, not the faux pas, that we notice.

Second, Paris Hilton pined that she "didn't mean to" drive drunk. We assume she didn't mean to get caught, as money tends to give people the notion that everything is fair game. We also assume she didn't mean to get convicted and sentenced to several days in jail....jail!!...for her actions. As heiresses go, we assume this moves her to the bottom tier, if that wasn't her previous rank.

Paris downed several top-shelf cocktails, put her key in the ignition, and her foot on the gas. But by no means did she mean to drive under the influence....let alone do so recklessly. And anyone who could think differently simply doesn't understand wealth, privilege and the insatiable desire for press of any kind. MAAD has since changed its name to reflect "Mothers Against Affluent Driving", just to cover all its bases.

From now on, we would like to see people of privilege own their actions. At the very least, we think we deserve a more creative and satisfying excuse than the one found on the lips of every 3-year-old. Paris runs with enough degenerates that one would think she has an entire 24-carat gold file cabinet full of ancient papyrus filled with calligraphied excuses that range from the improbable to the downright impressive.

Thompson ran with the Bushies. If that's not fertile ground for finding fine fudging, we admit we're at a loss to help the man.

So the 2007 inductees (we just know it won't get better than this for the next 7 months) into the "I Didn't Mean To" Hall of Fame are Paris (hiccup) Hilton and Tommy ("fire the faggots") Thompson. Congratulations to both.

Ahhh.....Spring

Spring, it seems, has sprung....boobs. Now we know why "they" love Paris in the Springtime. The photo on the right is from late 2006, the photo on the left is from last month.

We admit with no shame that we are experts, at SMTS, only on the male mammary and various other appendages, both large and, unfortunately, small. But if our eyes don't lie, it seems that East hath met West somewhere in the middle of Paris with overwhelming results. Where the two sides were once far apart in their stance, a new summit (or pair of them) has resulted in a happy convergence of positions.

Spokespersons for both sides say that the meeting was merely a matter of time and that each holds out hope that they will see eye-to-eye, as it were, for some time to come. Both sides also acknowledged the possibility of even greater cooperation in coming years, with such adjustments to the pact as made necessary by the ravages of time and the wonders of science.

Claire de Bourgonville, a tour guide at The Eiffel Tower, indicated that this new attraction in the center of Paris should not significantly impact tourism at the vaunted edifice. "Even with the remarkable renovation au centre de Paris," she quipped, "la Tour Eiffel is still the only one of the two on which you could safely climb."

'Nuff said.

Imus Redux

"I'm not a bad person. I'm a good person, but I said a bad thing. But these young women deserve to know it was not said with malice," he said.

Well....WHEW! That's a relief. Don Imus has joined the long, long queue of those who mysteriously produced bad acts out of a heart that is nothing but sweetness and light. I thought this line sounded familiar, so I did me some diggin' and unearthed a veritable phenomenon of this sort of event.

WHEN BAD THINGS BLURT FROM GOOD PEOPLE

1. "I think I am a good role model" -From the pantiless, crotch-flashing, hard-partying, drunk driver caught on video in a racist rant: Paris Hilton.

2. "And I love him, I think he's a wonderful human being. I think he's a very sincere and deeply religious human being. " - The pope? Billy Graham? No. Newt Gingrich uttered this about the man who said THIS: ""You know, if we had elected this man (segregationist, interracial adulterer, and recovered racist Strom Thurmond) 30 years ago, we wouldn't be in the mess we are today." - Trent Lott. (The FIRST time he said it in 1980.) Lott repeated the quote in 2002 on the occasion of Thurmond's 3,000th birthday: "I want to say this about my state: When Strom Thurmond ran for president, we voted for him. We're proud of it. And if the rest of the country had followed our lead, we wouldn't have had all these problems over all these years."

3. "I feel like I'm a good kid" - Boozy, multi-rehabbed, cocktail hurling partier extraordinaire Lindsay Lohan.

4. "She's a good woman." - Russell Yates, on his ex-wife, Andrea, who drowned all five of the couple's children, ages 7, 5, 3, 2, and 6 months in the bathtub. She currently shares a cell with Dena Schlosser who, in 2004, murdered her 11 month-old daughter by amputating the baby's arms with a kitchen knife. No joke.

I think we might need a better definition of "good" when it comes to people. Hackin' up babies, flashing your cooch, stumbling into martini fights, and ironing your good Klan sheet should not fall under that definition.

There are no bad people anymore. The last bad person was Jeffrey Dahmer, who, I'm sure, had a neighbor or a mama who insited he was "such a good boy". Or maybe Sadaam Hussein, who, despite all, had people marching in the streets to mourn his demise.

That's bad's news for those of us with a Bad Boy Fetish. Since everybody is a Good Person, regardless of what evil they manifest, those of us with a hankerin' for a hunka bad are left to settle for a nice accountant who will tickle our fancy but won't slap it real hard the way we like.

So it's Good News, Bad News. The Good News is there are no Bad People.

The Bad News is the same.