Eric Crouch has finally given up the dream of playing quarterback and has signed with the Chiefs to play as a defensive back.

Well, it's about time, you freakin' idiot.

Methinks this is more about the fact he's got mouths to feed and a Husker football commentator position at Omaha's Channel 7 doesn't pay nearly as well as the minimum salary for the NFL, but that's probably just me. I don't think those local car dealership endorsement deals were cutting it, either.

Crouch's head was allowed to swell to gigantic proportions as a result of his Heisman win. He honestly and truly believed he should have replaced Kurt Warner and Bret Favre on their respective teams. He'd won a Heisman, after all. They hadn't.

Idiot.

It's good to see that he's been officially humbled and that his head can return to normal size.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:44 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Dear God in Heaven.

To answer Michele's question: If I had a daughter, no, I would not let her even contemplate purchasing that dress for prom, let alone allow her to leave the house wearing that. In fact, I do believe the husband would lock said imaginary daughter in a closet until she came to her senses.

Any parent who buys that dress for their daughter should expect to become a grandparent nine months after prom. I hope they're ready for it.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:50 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Upon the urging of environmentalists,San Francisco wants to tax its residents 17% for plastic grocery bags. And just so they don't come off as being discriminatory, they're going to go for the paper bag users as well.

The point of all this being to "encourage" people to use their own bags to cart home groceries. It's more evironmentally-friendly, of course. Because these plastic bags wind up in trees, in the bay, etc.

And this comes after the Board of Supervisors passed "A new "backyard dog" law {which} says canines are entitled to a change of water once a day, palatable and nutritious food in a non-tipping bowl, and a dog house with a top, bottom and three sides. Tying up the dog is highly discouraged. "

San Francisco is a beautiful town. I love visiting, but as the saying goes, I wouldn't want to live there. Mainly because the residents of that fair fiefdom have their priorities out of whack.

There is a large contingent of homeless people who live there. They are, quite literally, everywhere. You cannot walk down the street without being accosted by panhandlers. The majority of the homeless I encountered were very, very ill. Most belonged in a hospital and should have been receiving treatment for whatever ails them. But they're not. Why? Because it's too expensive.

According to a native we became chummy with while we were there, the State decided it could no longer afford to pay for their upkeep and let them out. Willie Brown---Mr. Personality himself---as Mayor decided the city couldn't pay for their treatment either. But he didn't let them walk away emptyhanded, either: they receive a benefit from the City which, when added to their Social Security payments, adds up to about $800 a month. Just enough money to keep them self-medicated with booze or drugs, but not enough to help them afford treatment or a place to stay.

While we were there, we stayed in a hotel that bordered the Tenderloin district. It was very noisy at night, with lots of homeless people loitering about and screaming at one another. We wondered why they liked to gather right outside our hotel room window. Turns out there was a convenience store right next door that allowed the homeless to---ahem---run up tabs on liquor purchases. All they had to do to receive this marvelous service was to sign over their assistance checks once a month. And of course the convenience store doubled as a post office, too. Wouldn't want those checks going anywhere else, would they?

What's worse is how the homeless have become so accustomed to not receiving any help from anyone that if you do try to help, well, they'll turn on you. As we were there for a convention, we hosted some receptions and of course there was some leftover food. I asked the waiter if we shouldn't give it to the homeless that were wandering around. He told me, very gently, that while a very nice idea, that he wouldn't do it, because he feared for his safety. And he wouldn't let me do it, either. He said I would be mobbed and attacked. I let the matter go, but it seemed awful to have leftover food that could have done someone some good go in the trash. Particularly when those it would have done the most good were, literally, right outside the door. The leftovers wound up going home with the waiter.

This is how San Francisco deals with their homeless problem. It's an absolute shame and as far as I can see, no one on the Board of Supervisors is interested in dealing with the problem unless they get a fat check from the State or the Feds to tackle it. Gavin Newsom is the new Willie Brown. That they would worry more about dogs being chained up in backyards or that people should bring their own grocery sacks to the store is shameful.

Which judgment, of course, they would reject as bogus because there is no such thing as shame and how horrible of me to throw my Midwestern, faith-based construct on their lofty ideals. They don't deserve that. How dare I judge them. Their ideals are lofty. They came out of Berkeley: they must be correct. Their ideals are fantastic, because everyone's equal and no one is judged poorly for their behavior. Their ideals also allow them to rip anyone who doesn't agree with them a new one as much as they want. Their ideals mean that Golden Gate Park was really set up for protests, not for the enjoyment of their fellow citizens. Their ideals ensure the best of treatment for puppies and the environment. But their ideals also do absolutely nothing for the neediest of human beings they ignore every damn day of the week.

I hope they rot in hell. Because I do believe hell exists, even if they don't.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:23 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Even if you do manage to remove Joe Buck from calling Sunday's game against Philadelphia, you're still not going to make it to the Superbowl. Sorry, kids. It's not going to happen...again.

So, leave Joe alone, eh? He's a good guy who does his job extraordinarily well. After all, if Joe can sit next to Tim McCarver for the entire baseball season and still manage to restrain himself from beating the crap out of his broadcasting partner (particularly when McCarver soooo deserves it) that should show you something of his professionalism.

That and Randy Moss was actually being "disgusting" when he mooned the fans at Lambeau. You're getting yourselves worked up over nothing.

And just for the record: I'm not a Packers fan.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:29 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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As the Cake Eater Father was always saying during my youth: why would women want to be equal when they're already superior?

While I'm fairly certain my dear old Dad was trying to get around the feminazi movement in a clever way with this statement, and that equal pay for equal work wasn't really at the top of his mind, the man's got a point. We bring life into the world and nuture it. Men, no matter how hard they try, simply can't do that. Furthermore, we keep men from killing one another for sport. We keep them in line and our society is better as a result. There is already great power in this, yet most feminists refuse to see it. They only see what they don't have, instead of exploiting the power angles that we already possess.

I've long said that if we women really wanted to rule the world, all we would need to do is have a day like the Great American Smokeout, but only we'd call it the Great American Flash-o-Rama or something similar. It's a pretty simple concept, really. Heterosexual men lose all train of thought when their eyes light on a pair of boobs. If every woman in the country took off their shirt for a day, we could take over while the men were busy looking at our boobs and could fix most of the problems with a little ingenuity and some elbow grease by four p.m.

This would take some sacrifice on our part. Women generally don't enjoy acting like strippers. This is fine, too. After all, women are better than men: we don't want to act like them. Men are constantly acting in reference to their perceived penis size. God only knows what havoc would result if cup size came into it. But I digress---the reason women would never do something like this is because we have men where we want them already. If we have to throw them a bone---like handing over the keys to the kingdom---every now and again, fine. So be it. Strife only enters the equation when you want to balance the equation not realizing it's---ahem---already balanced.

So, no I don't consider it to be a big deal when a man opens a door for me, or pulls out my chair or stands at the table when I'm in the process of sitting down. I like it. While I fully recognize this sort of act is mostly a matter of common courtesy, and not an act of deference to my sex, I sort of like the thought that it might be an act of deference to me as a woman. What is wrong with that, I ask you? Men wouldn't be here if we women weren't around: why not pay homage to that? Why would some woman get upset over having Neil Cavuto let her off the elevator first, and then hold open the door for her? Why is Cavuto's act automatically some demand for submission to the ruling patriarchial world order?

The chick's got problems if a chivalrous man causes her that much bother. There are women, all over the globe, who have serious problems with men who could teach this woman a thing or two about the real struggle for female equality. These are the women who are ritualistically raped by their male neighbors and then are stoned for having committed adultery---even if they're not married. If they're not stoned, they're told that---because of something they had no control over---they have brought shame upon all the male members of the family and are treated accordingly. Which means being beaten to within an inch of their life. Sometimes they're even murdered because of this shame---and the men get off when they're charged with the crime because said shame is an ok excuse for murder.

These are the women whose genitals are mutilated when they are small girls because their male family members do not ever want them to experience sexual pleasure as it might morph them into a loose, libertinious woman.

These are the women who are not free to divorce an abusive spouse, but whose husbands are free to divorce them simply by saying the words "I divorce you" three times.

These are the women who are wrapped up in yards and yards of black cloth to prevent men from being tempted by their wares.

These are the women who are not free to leave their house without the accompaniment of a male relative because no other man is allowed to have contact with them unless that man is there. And not because the male relative is afraid of the sexual ambitions of some unknown man---he's afraid that this woman might lure the man into temptation. He's protecting the man and not the woman to whom he is related.

These are the women who are legally banned from driving a car because if it broke down, who would be able to help them?

These are the women who today, at the beginning of the twenty-first-century, still have no say in how their government runs because they do not have the right to vote.

I could go on, but I think you get the gist. This chick doesn't have a clue as to what's really important, and if she thinks that she's showing solidarity with her oppressed sisters across the globe by refusing a kind gesture, she's kidding herself.

In other words, save your resistance to the patriarchial hegemony for when it's really needed and will really make a difference.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:13 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Wow.

I didn't think it was possible to take the wind right out of me with a simple statement anymore.

I guess I was wrong.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:46 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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King Fahd (or Crown Prince Abdullah. Take your freakin' pick.) may hold the very impressive sounding job title of Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques, but he's also your friendly Saudi Arabian telephone company owner as well.

And they don't want Saudi citizens texting in votes for a reality show, ala American Idol. Instead of doing the reasonable thing and simply voicing an opinion against this sort of behavior, what did they do instead?

They used their ownership of the phone company and just blocked 9.5 million people from texting in their votes.

{...}"We feel the program does not match the values of the Saudi culture," said spokesman Saad Dhafer. "Our social and economic market research shows that our customers want us to operate in line with these values."

I know. With all that malarkey about morals and values you'd think this move was about the reality show, but in actuality it's about text messaging. Because...

{...}But Dhafer added viewers in the kingdom were still be able to vote using a regular land line.{...}

Hmmm. I wonder how much a call to the land line costs? Is it a toll-free line? Or is there a charge? I'll bet you anything there's a charge for that call.

Anyone know?

If true, well, what does that tell you about what's really important to the House of Saud? Morals or money?

Posted by: Kathy at 02:26 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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To the email spammers of the world:

Ahem.

I don't have a penis. Hence I am not interested in penis enhancers. I am a woman. We don't have penises unless we have "issues" and require serious and painful surgery to resolve said "issues."

Please take note of this and stop sending me spam asking me if I want to enhance junk I do not have to begin with.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:39 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Snort.

UPDATE: It's a good day for evil chuckling.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:11 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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WRONG!

To: Hollywood
From: Me
RE: The Raping of My Childhood

Would you people cut it the HELL out? I've about had it with you people raping my cherished childhood movie memories because some Genius Producer decided it would be a fucking fantastic idea. Furthermore, I've had it with your faulty assumption that because a. I loved the movie when I was a child and b. I am now of reproductive age that I will c. automatically take my 2.5 children to see this flaming piece of crap. And, like, because, like, it's got Johnny Depp in it, and he's, like, all HOTHOTHOT right now! And he was, like, fantastic in that pirate movie!

I am not a sheep. I do not utter multiple "BAAAAAAA"'s because you want me to.

What is the matter with you people? Have you nothing better to do with your time than to exploit my very happy childhood because yours was bad so you spend a thousand dollars a month on therapy? Is this your plan for world movie domination? Are you sitting in some feng-shuied-to-hell-and-back office on the Warner Brothers lot, greedily rubbing your palms together, a maniacal cackle on the verge of slipping from your collagen injected lips, just waiting for the cash to start rolling in?

GOD!

But let us diverge from the topic of the rape of my childhood memories for a moment and focus on other things.

What sort of rhinoplastic hell did you force Johnny Depp to endure to look like what you thought the part of Willy Wonka should look like? Did you set him up for an extended stint in the Elizabeth Taylor Suite at the Joan Rivers' Institute for Advanced Rhinoplasty for all the work, or did you simply inject a botox suppository up his ass to avoid all those troublesome shots of botulism? Have you possibly noticed that he's as white as a goodamn mime, as well? Did you give him whatever Michael Jackson is afflicted with or is that simply makeup? I'm assuming it's the latter, but you people throw around your money like a redneck throws beer bottles up in the air for shooting practice, so one simply never knows. You do realize that with the white face and the obsession with children, Johnny does kind of give off that whole Michael Jackson-pedophile vibe, right? Because that's what I thought of. I began wondering when Charlie was going to be taken aside and shown Willy's wee-wee.

Furthermore, if you're going to spend GOBS of cash hiring Tim Burton---and then spending millions of hours dealing with the weirdness that comes part and parcel with him---you might want to make sure your visionary is actually, you know, being visionary. From what I've seen it looks as if he ran the original film through the filters of the stoners he lived next door to when he was a freshman in college who, like, thought the movie was so trippy, maaaaan! Your visionary envisaged nothing new. He did not take Roald Dahl's work to heart. Rather, he took the original movie to heart and went from there. While I could not pick out the oompa-loompas as the cuts were too quick, all the sets nonetheless looked exactly like the original. Only darker. Because Tim is, like, so dark What? Was Tim having a few off-months or what? You might want to think about getting your money back. This movie is going to scare kids. It will not make them wonder about the wonderful world of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, wishing they could win their very own gold ticket. It will, however, make them worry about the bad, bad man up on the screen. But, take heart, people. If nothing else, it should work as a wonderful anti-drug campaign in about five years.

Which brings us back to the original topic: what the hell were you thinking, remaking a beloved classic? Do you people not know the Rule of Remakes? Let me enlighten you: YOU DO NOT REMAKE A MOVIE THAT WAS GREAT! You just don't do it. You PISS PEOPLE OFF when you do. You can, however, remake a movie that had a great premise but was faultily executed. If you need an example of this rule, see Ocean's Eleven. There are plenty of bad movies around. Go trolling through the vaults and find one of those to remake. Don't fuck with brilliance. The Gods of Brilliance should and will---rightly, I might add---strike you down for your impertinence, you fucking morons, because you're raping my fondly held childhood movie memories.

I'll save my venting about how Johnny Depp will never fill Gene Wilder's shoes for another day.

There. I feel better. Now, run to the therapist and cry your poor widdle eyes out because the bad, bad woman was mean to you. Maybe you'll score some extra prozac for your troubles.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:08 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Geez, Amber.

Milking it for all it's worth, eh? Getting every last drop out of that hind tit, right? That's important. I understand. One must make the most of opportunity when she knocks, right? Even if it means knocking Opportunity down and authorizing Gloria Allred, her team of lackeys and your agents to all strap on and gang rape the poor girl. It's all done for a good cause: you and your bank account.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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By refusing to do it!

ROME (Reuters) - Passengers on Alitalia's European flights were left hungry on Friday as cabin crew refused to serve meals and drinks in a "snack strike" to protest new working conditions at the Italian carrier.

The novel industrial action is a pale shadow of the all-out strikes which brought the airline to a standstill on occasion last year, but it has infuriated the management which is trying to drag the state-controlled company into profit.

Passengers on national and European flights were to be deprived of most in-flight services between 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. (1000-1400), a union representative said. Long-haul flights were unaffected.{...}

That's good. Piss off the people who pay the company for a service, who in turn pays you your salary. That's the way to get better treatment and save your ass from the chopping block.

Well Done! Gee, I wish I would have thought of that one.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:14 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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