Let's Take A Look At Justin Bieber's Arrest Report

OFC. COSNER #526 WAS TRAVELING SOUTHBOUND ON PINE TREE DRIVE AND OBSERVED TWO LAMBORGINIS (ONE YELLOW AND ONE RED) NORTHBOUND IN THE 2600 BLOCK OF PINE TREE DRIVE.

Yes, there's an H in "Lamborghini," but pretty close is good enough according to Florida law.

OFC. COSNER STATES THAT HE OBSERVED TWO BLACK SUV'S BEHIND BOTH VEHICLES AS IF TO STOP TRAFFIC GOING NORTHBOUND.

More than one SUV would be SUVs. With the apostrophe, it means an SUV owns the word that follows it. Which means the rest of this sentence is about the SUV's behind.

THIS FACILITATED AN OPEN ROAD FOR THE TWO LAMBORGINIS TO RACE. OFC. COSNER THEN MADEAU-TURN

-- that's when you sashay around the corner like Tyler Perry --

AND BEGAN TRAVELING NORTHBOUND TO CATCH UP TO THE VEHICLES. OFC. COSNER OBSERVED BOTH VEHICLES START A CONTEST OF SPEED (DRAG RACING) FROM A START . OFC. COSNER ESTIMATES THAT BOTH VEHICLES ATTAINED AN APPROXIMATE SPEED OF ABOUT 55-60 MPH.

I asked Ofc. Cosner if 55 mph could really be considered drag racing and he said, "Bite me."

THE SPEED LIMIT IN THIS RESIDENTIAL AREA IS 30 MPH. OFC. COSNER VIA HIS RADIO ADVISED OTHER UNITS OF THE SPEEDING VEHICLES.

"Quick," he said breathlessly, "I need backup! There are two cars going 55 mph here!"

I WAS AT 41ST AND PINETREE WHEN THE RADIO TRANSMISSION WAS MADE. I OBSERVED BOTH VEHICLES APPROACHING 41ST STREET. OFC. COSNER INITIATED A TRAFFIC STOP ON THE RED FERRARI AT 41ST AND PINETREE DR. THE YELLOW LAMBORGINI MADE A RIGHT TURN ONTO 41 ST AND CONTINUED EAST BOUND.

You might think it's strange that the red Lamborghini has turned into a Ferrari. By the end of this thing, though, Bieber is driving a lawn dart.

I CAUGHT UP TO THE YELLOW LAMBORGINI AND INITIATED A TRAFFIC STOP AT THE 300 BLK OF 41ST. I APPROACHED THE VEHICLE ON THE DRIVER SIDE. I ASKED THE DRIVER TO PLACE THE VEHICLE IN PARK. AT THIS TIME, THE DRIVER. BEGAN TO STATE:"WHY DID YOU STOP ME".

He finished stating it at approximately twenty-three hundred hours.

I EXPLAINED TO THE DRIVER THAT HE WAS STOPPED BECAUSE HE WAS DRAG RACING WITH THE OTHER LAMBORGINI.

"Man, you totally messed up my race," the driver said. "Once I hit 55 I was like, 'Motherfucker, eat my dust!'"

I IMMEDIATELY SMELLED AN ODOR OF ALCOHOL EMINATING FROM THE DRIVERS BREATH AND BLOODSHOT EYES.

Which in retrospect is kind of weird considering later breath tests showed he'd had the equivalent of one-fifth of an O'Douls.

THE DRIVER HAD SLOW DELIBERATE MOVEMENTS AND A STUPER LOOK ON HIS FACE.

= "stupor" + low IQ

THESE ARE ALL INDICATORS OF AN IMPAIRED DRIVER.

Unless you're a lemur, in which case I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am.

I ASKED THE DRIVER TO EXIT THE VEHICLE TO CONTINUE MY INVESTIGATION OF A POSSIBLE IMPAIRED DRIVER. THE DRIVER STATED:" WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS"?

I didn't answer because one of the most effective methods of controlling a suspect is making him stew in his own juice.

FINALLY, THE DRIVER EXITED THE VEHICLE AS HE KEPT GOING INTO HIS PANTS POCKETS.

I was surprised he fit but he's a tiny mofo.

I ASKED THE DRIVER TO NOT GO INTO HIS POCKETS FOR MY SAFETY AND HIS.

I mean, have you ever jammed your hand into the corner of your Tic Tacs?

FEARING THAT THE DRIVER MIGHT HAVE A WEAPON OR CONTRABAND, I ASKED THE DRIVER TO PLACE HIS HANDS ON HIS VEHICLE IN ORDER TO FACILITATE A CURSORY PATDOWN FOR WEAPONS. THE DRIVER STATED:"WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO, WHY DID YOU STOP ME."

I immediately became cognizant of the fact that the driver is prone to run-on sentences. I didn't answer because I didn't hear a question mark.

AGAIN I ASKED THE DRIVER TO PLACE HIS HANDS ON HIS VEHICLE. THE DRIVER COMPLIED BUT TOOK HIS HANDS OFF THE VEHICLE SOON AFTER AND TURNED AROUND TO FACE ME. AGAIN I ASKED THE DRIVER TO NOT TAKE HIS HANDS OFF HIS CAR AND TO LOOK FORWARD BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO PERFORM A CURSORY PATDOWN. THE DRIVER STATED:"I AINT GOT NO FUCKING WEAPONS, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO SEARCH ME,WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ABOUT?"

I ADVISED THE DRIVER THAT IF HE CONTINUED TO TAKE HIS HANDS OFF HIS VEHICLE, HE WOULD BE SUBJECT TO ARREST. THE DRIVER AGAIN TURNED AROUND TO FACE ME. AT THIS TIME, I GRABBED HIS RIGHT HAND AND STATED TO HIM THAT HE WAS UNDER ARREST. THE DRIVER BEGAN TO RESIST ME BY PULLING HIS RIGHT ARM AWAY AS HE STATED:"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING".

I ADVISED THE DRIVER NOT TO RESIST AND WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF OFC. MOLINA ID# 064 AND OFC. SOCARRAS#501 , WE PLACED HIM INTO CUSTODY WITH NO FURTHER INCIDENT.

I thanked God, because a day where a dude tries to pull his arm away twice is a day I don't want to live through. The other officers and I agreed never to divulge that it took three policemen to arrest a dude that an angry tabby could have brought down.

THE DEF.WAS TRANSPORTED TO THE MIAMI BEACH POLICE DEPARTMENT BY OFFICER DIONNE. WHILE EN ROUTE TO THE STATION, DEF INQUIRED AS TO WHY HE'D BEEN ARRESTED. OFFICER DIONNE ADVISED HIM THAT HE BELIEVED HE WAS IMPAIRED.

Def said, "Well, if you're impaired, then let me drive!" and Officer Dionne said, "Nobody likes a smartass!"

DEF ADVISED THAT HE WAS NOT DRUNK, AND THAT HE WAS COMING BACK FROM RECORDING MUSIC AT A STUDIO. ONCE AT THE MBPD HOLDING FACILITY, OFFICER DIONNE OBSERVED DEF TO HAVE A FLUSHED FACE, BLOODSHOT EYES, AND THE ODOR OF AN ALC. BEV. ON HIS BREATH.

In retrospect, still weird. One-fifth of an O'Douls!

DEF WAS OFFERED SFSTs [Standardized Field Sobriety Tests] ON A FLAT, DRY, SMOOTH, AND WELL LIT SURFACE. DEF DID NOT PERFORM TO STANDARDS. DEF LATER AGREED TO A BREATH TEST AS WELL AS A DRUG EVALUATION. IT WAS ALSO LEARNED THAT THE DEF. HAS AN EXPIRED GEORGIA DRIVERS LICENSE (06/24/2013). CHARGE ADDED.

Sure, he had a Florida license, but nobody cared. I started saying "YOU JUST CAN'T LET THEM GEORGIA LICENSES EXPIRE!" and ended shortly thereafter.

I tell ya, 1971 was a motherfucker.

Last week the Discovery Channel held a special event in Times Square to promote their new miniseries "Klondike." I enjoyed it all, especially the saloon. (Though if I were the town newspaper's editor my first headline would be, "Like All TV Gold Rush Towns, We Have Far Too Many Hookers.")

They were pushing a souvenir kit so I actually panned for gold, and just like in real life I found more than my share of flakes. Anyway, the show looks pretty great, executive produced by Ridley Scott. As for gold rush life, I'm not so sure. A lot of people romanticize it but even judging from the souvenir kit I think it'd be pretty vial.

Pieced Together From Hunks Of Flesh Found in Graveyards and Wandering The Land With No Language Skills Or Purpose, Frankenstein Still Finds Time To Shave His Chest

Tori Spelling's Husband Struggles Desperately To Quash His Need For Human Contact

Story.

B E A U T Y - dir. Rino Stefano Tagliafierro from Rino Stefano Tagliafierro on Vimeo.

You know one thing I love about today's hi-tech world? Literally every day somebody creates a new artwork that just bowls me over. Today it's the video Beauty by Italian artist Rino Stefano Tagliafierro. He's taken some of his favorite paintings and computer-animated them. The results are quite surprising.

Subtle motion completely changes our feelings about that landscape with the waterfall. Before we'd have thought something like, "How beautiful!" or "How gorgeous!" Now when we see the deer standing there, still motionless, our mind goes to, "What the fuck is wrong with them?" Likewise, the cow seems like a layabout compared to those plucky birds. Somebody's gonna be having burgers for supper!

It's with the human figures, though, that the magic truly happens. Look at that mother holding the baby at 0:50. The movements are so controlled, so smooth, so refined. The animation has transported this intimate scene into a realm previously occupied only by online greeting cards and JibJab.

Mr. Tagliafierro has surely answered many an art lover's prayer. I know whenever I see Alma Parens by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1:25), my first thought is, "I sure wish that kid would get his head out of the way so we could see her other booby." And the painting with the bears (1:32) now ventures beyond art into education. Who would have guessed bears were so slow? Next time I'm confronted by one I'll definitely try to outrun it.

The little-girl montage around the 2:00 point totally transfixes me. I frequently see portraits in museums and think, "You know, if she could only tip her head back and forth like a solar cat she'd be totally cool." I often look at paintings of little girls and muse, "If only she were alive and able to pull her up her little skirt."

I'll bet if these artists were alive today they'd thank Mr. Tagliafierro. I'm sure at some point they all looked at their work and said, "I really wish these figures could move like vinyl reindeer in a front-yard Christmas display."

A nude forest scene (3:00) looks like a raucous party when stuck to canvas, but animated it truly comes alive. Who'd have guessed the slow-moving figures would look automatons perched atop a clock sold on QVC? At 4:47 a girl entrances with her coy allure; with the wink and finger moving into dimple, though, now she's saying, "Give me a haypenny and I'll let you pull my knickers down!"

I know you probably don't have time to watch the whole thing, so I'll summarize it as succinctly as I can. Boobs, boobs, butt, angel wings. Hands move toward nipples. Almost every figure ever painted moves toward orgasm except Edward Munch's Scream. A dress strap slips, another nipple appears. Boobs, boobs, nipples, snatch.

At 6:15 we see what The Walking Dead would look like if it was art-directed by Vermeer. Nipples give way to blood, blood cedes to death. It's so sad: now the artist is using his skills to cover up the perky pink nipples. The true finality of death finally hits us, but it's still fuckin' hot!

Though the video is a bit long at eight billion minutes eleventy thousand seconds, we definitely get a feel for Mr. Tagliafierro's talents. Our minds can't be faulted for wandering to the obvious: What would he be capable of if he made front-lawn Christmas displays? Certainly men from far and near would linger for hours, though probably with slowly-moving coats across their laps.

With Two Black SUVs Blocking Traffic For Him, Justin Bieber's Lamborghini Hits Speeds Topping 55 MPH

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Thanks for "Looking"

Finally! "Looking" is the ground-breaking TV show we gays have been waiting for since "Queer As Folk" bit the dust. Our first inkling that there's something totally new in our universe came when Patrick, the 29-year-old vanilla lead, gets a handjob in the park by a guy with a beard. We studied the screen: Was his partner one of those fabled "bears"? Or was he a "hipster"? Seconds later every preconceived notion we've ever had about gays on TV bit the dust: sure, there's been a lot of sex, and a lot of it has been interrupted by phone calls, but I don't think I've ever seen it interrupted by a Kylie Minogue ringtone.

TV has never seen a character like this before. The best comparison I can think of is if Charlotte from "Sex in the City" squealed "I can't believe you're touching my boobs!" every time she had sex. I almost couldn't believe it when somebody told Patrick that he should stop worrying about what his mother thinks. WHAT??? I was hoping he'd sing his reply in Yiddish but maybe next ground-breaking week.

I think "Looking" is so shocking because it holds a mirror up to reality. I mean, who hasn't had a business card in their pocket that a stranger pulled out and assumed was theirs? I can't count the number of times guys have done that to me and then spent the next eight weeks calling me "Jessica the Aussie Aromatherapist." Playing totally against stereotype, the streetwise Hispanic stumbles over a word that's actually difficult. I mean, even I want to give up before I get to the "log" in "oncologist."

In a page totally ripped from my playbook, the Samantha Jones stand-in, all excited about moving in with his boyfriend, smartly decides the best way to cement their commitment is to initiate a three-way with the hunky temp worker who just happens to drop by. Apparently the temp's résumé also lists "Nailing chairs together" and "Letting hot guys touch my tattoo while their boyfriends are nearby."

Of course, the show isn't perfect. I mean, when I'm having sex my primary thought isn't, "MAKE SURE NOBODY ELSE CAN SEE HIS DICK." And if "Looking" truly echoed reality, everybody on BART would be heterosexual and all the gay men would go home to watch Girls.

Will "Looking" last? Sadly, I don't know. I'm not sure the world is ready for an anarchistic artwork where a gay man's Dolly Parton tattoo is totally ironic. But let's enjoy it while it lasts. Me, I can't wait until next week's show when Patrick discovers something shocking about a dude he's picked up. Hint: foreskin! Sorry: put the word "SPOILER" before that, and fingers crossed we don't all totally puke.

Davos Participants Vow Not To Bow To Outside Pressures, Name Mark Zuckerberg's Sister "Young Global Leader"

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Gift Ideas From The Bradford Exchange

For Your Son:

"Protection And Strength For My Son" Sapphire Pendant Necklace

As you watch your son grow into manhood, remind him that God will always be there to protect him as he blazes his own trail to help build a bright new world.

Also For Your Son:

"Forge Your Own Path, My Son" Glow-In-The-Dark Watch

Share your hopes and dreams with your son as he makes his way in the world and leaves an unforgettable mark on society. The world will truly be putty in his hands, eager to see what changes he has in store. Show him you believe in him with this intriguing metal-look watch.

For Your Daughter:

"Everybody Has Different Ideas Of Pretty" Silver-Tone Bracelet

Show your cherished daughter that even unconventionally attractive women are beloved in God's eyes, though good luck finding one in a painting. Each shiny link of this bracelet is engraved with features that God often gives his most beloved children, despite the fact people frequently flinch when they see them. Included are "Frizzy hair," "Bony shoulders," "Child-bearing hips," and "Flat ass." Accompanied by a metal-look disc engraved calligraphy style with the poem, "God Only Gave You Gangly Arms So You'd Have More To Hold Him."

Also For Your Daughter:

"Just Lay There And Hope For The Best" Music Box

Let your beloved daughter know you're nearly convinced she'll eventually snag a man. Any young woman would take comfort in reading the inspirational poem on this crystal-like keepsake entitled "Someone To Take You Off My Hands." Even if she never does marry, she'll take comfort in remembering that most of her relatives really thought she had a shot. Plays "Hey There Lonely Girl."

Nick mixes a great martini and Zelda makes terrific eggplant parmesan so I didn't really care what they did afterward.

Another Chubby Girl Gets Just Her Face On Vogue

Three Days On A Cruise Ship Gets Alcoholic Drinking Again

Story.

It's time I came out of the closet. Despite what you must have assumed, I don't actually have Asperger's Syndrome.

I can picture you now, stunned speechless. "But Roman," you finally stutter, "that's impossible. You live in a big city, and made good money in the computer field. How did you manage that?

Just because I enjoy animals and human contact doesn't mean I'm a complete idiot. I faked it! Before my first job interview I Googled the symptoms so I was ready for all their coded questions. Half-heartedly the HR manager ran through my résumé before casually letting the question drop: "By the way, what are your top-ten favorite air disasters?"

I didn't just fall off the carrot truck. I knew New York hi-tech companies all but required their employees to have some kind of socially-disruptive, productivity-enhancing syndrome. I also knew it was a violation of the Americans without Disabilities Act to quiz for it. He couldn't just come out and ask, "Do you have Asperger's, like the rest of us?" He couldn't ask, "Are you burdened down by the emotions of regular human beings? During the work day, will you occasionally post on Facebook, or chat with friends on the phone? Will you suddenly announce that you have a home life and try to leave work at 10 pm? Will we be sitting here on Saturdays wondering why you'd rather be rafting than scripting a PC emulator with us?"

I didn't spend 18 hours at the Learning Annex's "How To Pretend You Have Asperger's To Get A High-Paying Tech Job" class for nothing. "I'm absolutely fascinated by the Army bomber crashing into the Empire State Building on July 28, 1945," I replied, "though clearly the two Boeing 747s colliding in Tenerife was the worst in terms of fatalities."

I could see in his eyes that I'd scored a strike, but he was still wary. Clearly he'd hired an ordinary human before and it'd gone on to bite him in the butt. "We'll call you in a week or two," he said. "It's been great meeting you, but I've got a train to catch. Hmm. I'm taking the Hudson line from Penn Station to Cold Spring Harbor, and I don't remember if the next train leaves at 5:03 or 5:13."

"5:17," I bluffed.

"That's right," he said, clearly surprised. Then he started talking about his wife and kids, and I wondered if maybe I'd misjudged him. He seemed like a really nice guy. Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up and it smacked me like a trout in the face:

It was a trap!

I pulled out my cellphone and randomly hit buttons. He laughed. "You guys!" he said, clapping me on the back. "Okay, you've got the job. Now head home and, I dunno, memorize the populations of South American capitols or something."

The job worked out fine for a few years, though I had to be constantly on guard. I'd work late at least one day a week, and when a secretary or mail clerk asked, "Don't you have a home to go to?" I'd pretend to think for a second before answering, "Why?"

When somebody asked me to have lunch with them, I feigned confusion. "What is the purpose of this?" I'd ask. "Would I actually have to deposit the food into your mouth?"

When somebody shared personal information with me, I'd pretend I was a dog and somebody had asked me to mix them a martini. I'd cock my head and stare into space and eventually they'd laugh and say, "Oh, I forgot about you computer programmers. Never mind!"

But then one day I returned from a long lunch to find my boss waiting in my office. "Roman," he said, "where were you?"

My brain scrambled for an explanation. "I had this uncontrollable compulsion to head to the T-Mobile store and catalog the differences between the Android 14BJ2 and the Samsung JollySlinger Plus."

"Really?" he asked. "Well, that's weird, because that's what I was doing, and I didn't see you there."

Sigh; that was it. I was busted. Something inside me finally snapped, and I knew it was over. "Okay," I said. "The truth is, I met a friend at a restaurant and we talked about relationships."

You could have heard his gasp from space. "Pack your things," he said. "We don't want your kind around here."

For a while I lived in shame, unable to share my story with others. Slowly, though, I readjusted my life and my priorities, and eventually I found a place that welcomed an average guy without Asperger's. To my surprise, I actually enjoy serving coffee! I enjoy talking to people. And I especially like telling the Google employees who work upstairs that serving bad coffee is GROUNDS for divorce, and then explaining to them what humor is.

And now I'm sharing this story because if it helps even one person without Asperger's to realize that they too can have a productive life in a big city, then I've done my job. Because I've proved to myself and to the rest of New York that you can be yourself and still be rewarded. Sure, my paychecks are slightly less than unemployment, but I've regained my pride. I've finally gotten to a place where I can stand up and say, "MY NAME IS ROMANHANS AND I'M REASONABLY PRODUCTIVE! That'll be $9.12, please."

FOX NEWS CONTRIBUTOR ALLEN WEST (in response to Eric Holder's statement that school "zero tolerance" disciplinary policies disproportionately punish minorities and push them into the judicial system): This is my clear and succinct message to white Americans. How long will it be before "you people" realize you have elevated someone to the office of president who abjectly despises you -- not to mention his henchman Holder. Combined they are the most vile and disgusting racists -- not you.

EIGHTY THOUSAND PEOPLE IN KENTUCKY: We knew we weren't racist! Now carry our luggage to our room, boy.

I've never understood the slur "pussy," meaning a weak or ineffectual person. Whatever pussies are, they're not weak. You're not going to meet a billionaire who'd risk half of his wealth for a dweeb.

Weird. Last night I dreamt somebody'd crossed a caterpillar with a platypus. I can't even say "claterpatypus" when I'm awake.

Actually, I completely agree. Turns out only one of us sent him a pizza.

Downton Abbey Season 4 Episode 1 Recap & Review (SPOILERS!)

The season opener of Downton Abbey sticks closely to one of my favorite themes: somebody does something crazy, offers a ridiculous explanation for it, and all the eyewitnesses act like it's perfectly normal with variations on, "Oh, okay!"

Fireworks fly when Lady Rose goes to a dance, immediately attracting a lower-class beau. Naturally she can't divulge the truth. "My name's Chelsea Barnacle!" she says. "My parents are Fred and Ginger Barnacle, long-time hoofers who appeared in 'Tapping Your War Wounds Away,'" she says. "I'm an audiologist and part-time undersecretary to the Director of Defense," she says. "I work at Downton Abbey!"

Oops.

Anybody who's ever been to a bar knows this isn't a mistake actual people make. It's not hard to make up a workplace. Horse's Head Tavern. The Bureau of Incidental Furnishings. Margarine: A Unique Boutique. It's like only writing down two digits when you give somebody a fake phone number. Still, we're shocked when the man appears at the Abbey to reconnect with the lass. It's the first time somebody's been manly on Downton Abbey since Carson and Lord Grantham's periods synced up.

Lady Grantham needs a new lady's maid, since the last one left during the hiatus. This subplot sags a bit. They ask around, ask some more, then put a sign in a shop window. Hours pass. Anyone entertained by this segment of the program would be on the edge of their seat perusing Craigslist.

Finally a woman of questionable repute appears. "You should hire me," she tells Lady Grantham. "Look -- I have a reference from a member of your staff!"

"Why not?" asks Lady Grantham. I mean sure, the letter could have been forged, but who's got the time to double-check? She's got stationery to scent and harpsichords to pluck.

Now master-less, Molesley takes a job tarring the street, becoming the first working-class character on TV who absolutely could not get laid. The job doesn't suit him: in his head he's training parakeets. Sad-sack Isobel Crawley spots him and knows she must act. She wants to give him money ... but how? He'd never accept charity.

The saintly Bates comes up with a strategem. They'll forge an IOU saying Bates owes Molesley 3000 pounds, then get the cash from Maggie Smith. It works perfectly. When presented with the IOU, the money and the explanation that everybody just plain forgot about the loan, Molesley happily accepts what would be $42,500 in today's currency. "Wow," he says, "whaddaya know?"

We sense that the new, chubby nanny has a hidden secret -- and she's in charge of the manse's innocent lambs. Our suspicions are confirmed when she tells one of the babies it's a "half-breed." She has us hissing at the screen until she gets canned six seconds later. "YOU'RE FIRED!" screams Lady Grantham. "GET YOUR THINGS AND GET OUT!" "Sorry," says the Bond-worthy villain in valuable seconds she could be using to overturn the bassinet, "my bad."

Carson gets an odd note in the mail. He goes pale reading it. "NO!" he shrieks. "NOOOOO!" He clutches his chest and, with eternally-nosy Mrs. Hughes watching, he crumples the note, tosses it in the trash, and immediately exits stage left. It's a bit hard to admire a TV series that would be four minutes long if somebody'd had a paper shredder.

In the end, though, mostly what we feel is frustration. After busybody Isobel Crawley fetches the writer of the crumpled note, we discover that he'd once had a song-and-dance act with Carson, à la I Love Lucy's Mertz & Kurtz. Carson refuses to meet him. We don't care either way, but now we're waiting for the stiff old codger to break into song. Perhaps the crowd downstairs could coax him into singing "Am I Blue (Or Is It The Ammonium Nitrate I Use To Clean Lord Grantham's Hat)?" Maybe during dinner he could break into "By The Light Of The Silvery Moon (I See A Chip In The Soup Tureen. You Are SO Fired, Layabout!)."

After 182 minutes of talking about responsibility comes four minutes of violins. Carson finally goes to meet his ex-partner as the man is catching a train to Scotland. Seems they'd fought over a lady. "She told me she'd really loved you, and regretted losing you," Kurtz says.

Carson thinks about wiping away a tear, but this is a TV railway platform so there are three extras nearby. "Gosh," he says, as he heads back to a stack of cummerbunds that need cleaning, "who'd-a thunk it?"

Still, kudos to the creators. They certainly got the series back on track. After waiting nearly a year for Downton Abbey to return, it only took two hours to reignite the exact same feelings we had at the height of the last frenzied season:

Could. Not. Give. A. Fuck.

Yeah, once your dad is into his thirtieth heart it could be curtains at any time.

At a friend's house. She's getting ready to go out. I'm checking email on my cellphone when I notice something odd in front of her dog.

ME: I think your dog threw up.

HER: "Think"?

ME: Well, I don't know. Did you teach him how to make a tiny igloo out of Triscuits?

Reply To A Recent Comment

Jesus predicted that just before His return as Judge, there will be a strange, dangerous fad -- a spontaneous global steamroller notable for its speed, violence, and impudent in-your-face openness.

That's definitely same-sex marriage. Wait, unless it's the Choking Game or vodka eyeballing. Slinkies could be the work of the devil too.

In Luke 17 He called this worldwide craze the repeat of the "days of Lot" (see Genesis 19). By fulfilling this worldwide mania that's secretly coordinated by unseen spirit beings, gays are really hurrying up Christ's return and making the Bible even more believable!

Oh, puh-LEEZE! How could we ever doubt a book where donkeys talk and a bear kills kids for laughing at male pattern baldness? And what part of the Bible exactly is same-sex marriage making more believable? Does Leviticus predict that it'll cause Pottery Barn's stock to soar?

As for the idea that I'm being coordinated by unseen spirit beings, you obviously haven't seen my clothes.

They've actually invented strange architecture: closets opening not on to bedrooms but on to Main Streets where kids can see naked men having sex in "Madam" Nancy Pelosi's San Francisco Brothel District. We wonder how soon S.F.'s underground saint -- San Andreas -- will get a 10-point jolt out of what goes on over his head (see the dire prediction about cities in Revelation 16:19, and Google "Obama Supports Public Depravity").

"'Madam' Nancy Pelosi"? Where'd that come from, "Rutabaga Head"? Your correlation between sin and natural disaster makes me wonder why God killed the dinosaurs. Did they mix cotton and polyester? I mean, clearly the T Rex's hands were too small to shoplift.

And if you're talking about the fabulous Folsom Street Fair, which began in 1984, here's an equally valid headline: GEORGE BUSH AND HIS IDIOT SON SUPPORT PUBLIC DEPRAVITY. Just try not to picture it.

What's really scary is the "reprobate mind" phrase in Romans 1:28. A person can sear his conscience so much that God finally turns him over to S, the universal evil leader whose unseen agents can give a "possessed" person super-human strength that many cops with tasers have trouble subduing!

Okay, maybe my standards have been diluted by superhero movies, but it's hard to get excited about a villain whose powers are on a par with crystal meth.

Remember, gays don't have to stay bound to their slavery. Their emancipation is found in a 5-letter name starting with J (no, not James or Julia). As soon as they can find out the all-powerful J name, gays will really start living! (Google "God to Same-Sexers: Hurry Up," "USA -- from Puritans to Impure-itans," and "The Background Obama Can't Cover Up.") Was Jesus silent about gays? Google " 'Jesus Never Mentioned Homosexuality.' When gays have birthdays...."

If being tied up and gagged by a guy named Ramon is slavery, then -- wait, I guess it is kind of slavery. But it's the good kind, where you have coffee and scones afterward.

As for gays being responsible for all the sin in the world, I suggest you Google "Testy Fest." If San Andreas saw all those heterosexual balls dangling over his head, he'd never open his mouth again.

Conversations With Drunks #1

Waiting in line for a bar's bathroom, I see an excited drunk at a nearby ATM.

DRUNK GUY: YES! Finally got me some cash.

ME: That's what it's there for.

DRUNK GUY: Gotta love them ATM machines.

ME: I think it's just "ATM." The M means "machine."

DRUNK GUY: Welcome to America!

Christians Who Jump To The Defense Of An Anti-Black and Anti-Gay Pastor Don't Move Quite So Fast When He's Anti-Woman, Anti-Asian, Anti-Muslim

Though it's just common sense to marry a girl before she's old enough to realize a dude should have a job.