There was the man they called “Bob the Builder,” who wore only a hard hat. There was the naked sunbather who remarked, “Nice day for it, isn’t it?” to a woman taking a walk. And there was the moment, Jules Perkins said, when the dizzying array of sexual forces that have somehow descended on her blameless Surrey village came together all at once, like a scene from a one-size-fits-all X-rated film.

“There were two blokes sitting side by side, watching a man and a woman having sex,” Ms. Perkins said, describing what happened as she strolled with her dog on the hill between her house and the Hog’s Back ridge. “Nearby, there were two men sunbathing together, wearing nothing but tight little white underpants.”

Later, she found a pink vibrator in the bushes.

“I gave it to the police,” she said. “They said, ‘What should we do with it?’ I said, ‘Put it in Lost Property.’"

When I read this article on public sex in Britain, I thought it was a joke. The local residents are reasonable! People are being tolerant! The police are "tread[ing] lightly" because of the "bitter legacy of the time when gay sex was illegal and closeted men having anonymous sex in places like public bathrooms were routinely arrested and humiliated."

“Honestly, it’s been going on for so many years,” said Jennifer Debenham, 71. “I think we should just let them get on with it.”

Are you kidding me? There are reasonable heterosexuals somewhere in the world? In this bizarre parallel universe, in fact, the gays come off as the villains, leaving vast swaths of litter in their wake.

Debris — used condoms, things made of rubber, pages torn from pornographic magazines, snack wrappers, discarded tea cups — littered the area.

Tea cups? Tea cups? That's an unfortunate image. Now I'm picturing pale naked British dudes doing it with their pinkies in the air. Still, leave it to the British to make public sex civil.

MAN #1: I say, Cecil, would you mind particularly if we incorporated a spot of urination into our coitus?

MAN #2: That sounds most enjoyable, Cyril. (PAUSE.) Wait: who's going to be mother?

OK, that's it. Paris, get whatever the hell kind of plastic surgery you want, but LEAVE THAT POOR LITTLE DOG ALONE.

You wanna know what's really dangerous? Looking at this photo with eyes.

Halfway through Joe.My.God's website today I started to get really hungry, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Finally it hit me: all those obscure political acronyms sounded like ingredients in my favorite food! See if you can tell which of the following are from the radical atheist leatherman's propaganda page and which are chemicals in Chicken McNuggets.

1. AFA
2. PHVO
3. ADF
4. SALP
5. DMPS
6. IGBP
7. AVP
8. TBHQ
9. RNC
10. SAPP
11. DOMA
12. AC360


ANSWERS:
2, 4, 5, 8 and 10 are in McNuggets. 1, 3, 6, 7, 9, 11 and 12 are from JMG.

1. American Family Association
2. Partially hydrogenated vegetable oil
3. Alliance Defense Fund
4. Sodium aluminum phosphate: antioxidant keeps fat from turning rancid
5. Dimethylpolysiloxane: toxic anti-foaming agent
6. Dan Savage's "It Gets Better" Project
7. Anti-Violence Project
8. Tertiary butylhydroquinone: preserves freshness, derived from petroleum, potentially deadly
9. Republican National Committee
10. Sodium acid pyrophosphate: antioxidant keeps fat from turning rancid
11. Defense of Marriage Act
12. Anderson Cooper 360

In an interview with The Daily News, [accused Stonewall Inn gay basher Christopher] Orlando's dad swore his 17-year-old boy was no bigot. "[I]t's not about Gays or race or any of that. We don't care about any of that stuff in this family." Had there been "an elephant" in the bathroom, "there probably would have been swings at the elephant," Don Orlando said.

Well, after his son screamed about how elephant bars were disgusting, and he didn't want no fuckin' pachy waving his trunk around him.

For Robert Thompson, a professor of popular culture at Syracuse University, the question is not why kids are asking for spaghetti tacos, but why they haven't asked for them sooner. "This combination seems to be an inevitability, sort of like chocolate and peanut butter running into each other on that Reese's commercial," he said. "The amazement should be only that it took 'iCarly' to bring it into our melting pot of a culture.

"Spaghetti tacos has made it possible to eat spaghetti in your car," he said. "It's a very important technological development."

So fuck you, lasers.

SCENE: Lobby of a downtown Citibank. The bank manager -- an officious, middle-aged woman in a dark blue business suit -- is talking to two young employees in sloppy shirts and cheap ties.

WOMAN: I just read this really inspiring story about four people: Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody. There was an important job to do, and Everybody was asked to do it. But Everybody didn't do it, because he thought Somebody would do it. Then Anybody said he could do it, but Nobody did it. And Nobody said --

[Confused pause.] Wait. Everybody said --

No, Somebody said --

You know, maybe it's better if you read it yourself.

ONE OF THE GUYS: Yeah, I think that's probably right.

Friday night I went to see Laurie Anderson's show Delusion. Packed house. She told stories interspersed with freeform, ersatz jazz that sounded like a white person's version of klezmer.

It was fun, but depressing and not particularly insightful, all sickness and death and missed communications and unfulfilled desire. Two stories in particular stood out (totally paraphrased):

A ninety-year-old couple filed for divorce. All their friends were shocked. "Why bother?" one asked. "Why now?"

The wife replied, "We were waiting for the children to die."

Tears were streaming down my face. They were falling from my left eye because I love you. They were falling from my right eye because I can't stand you.

I didn't get it. I couldn't make the leap. I think she wanted to make a broad comment on life, but the first thing in my mind was, "Well, that's what you get when you marry Lou Reed."

For the second time in two months, an airport in Baotou, Inner Mongolia, was forced to shut to avoid a collision between a UFO which was refusing to take instructions from air traffic control.

Three flights to Baotou from Shanghai and Beijing were reportedly forced to circle the airport until the UFO got bored and wandered off.

Of course there's no photos, because who would bring a camera to the airport?

Because it's pretty easy to miss the plaque and roomful of dudes singing, "I Am What I Am."

Vietnam's ruling communist party isn't too psyched about the idea of its citizens using Facebook, so they've made their own version.

To get an account, you have to give your full, real name and government-issued I.D. number; this way, the government can monitor your usage and make sure you're not doing anything bad, like fomenting dissent.

Other differences? In the communist version you slap somebody instead of poking them, and those aren't animals in the cages at Farmville.

On October 9 -- which would have been John Lennon's 70th birthday -- City Winery hosts a tribute concert for the former Beatle, featuring live performances from Kimya Dawson, Freedy Johnston, and more. A special "Imagine" wine flight, curated by the winery, will accompany each set. City Winery, 155 Varick St at Vandam St. . . . Oct 9 at 9pm; $95-$225.

If John were still with us I think he'd say, "Imagine enjoying a series of buttery chardonnays and full-bodied merlots while being serenaded by half the Moldy Peaches and somebody who peaked at #54 on the Billboard Hot 100, for just a couple hundred bucks. Now it isn't hard to do!"

I've posted before about Thrillist. They insist that "Favorable reviews cannot be bought," and then they rave about some new designer showroom where a hedge fund manager's ex-wife sells sparkly cowboy culottes for $1,400 a pair. The disclaimer doesn't actually help their reputation. It's like finding a friend behind the counter at McDonalds and hearing him insist that he's not being paid. Maybe their reviews can't be swayed with money, but they can be easily won over by fugly clothes made for frat boys or forty dollar martinis decorated with real gold leaf.

Today Thrillist raves about GameCrush, with the somewhat-unbelievable headline "Internet gaming but now with pretty people." They provide profiles for some of them.

FoxR571 likes easygoing fun guys. Kaylagirl loves "dirty talk" and high kill scores on Call of Duty. Sexykitty likes kitties and strawberries, and she wants to "play with your joystick."

What's the catch? You have to pay these women to play videogames with you.

"Endlessly playing video games isn't a great way to meet girls," the modern-day Solomons declare, "but you know what is? Money."

Now, I've gotta say, that's real progress. No more paying woman to accompany us to motels to blow us: now we're paying woman to accompany us to virtual worlds to kill zombies who want to eat our brains.

This recommendation leaves me staring in disbelief. Really, what kind of crowd are they aiming for? If you were thinking to yourself, "I'm a complete social outcast but I don't have the confidence to pick up whores," then this is the tip for you. Personally, though, I'm not sure they should be encouraging this kind of thing. Rather than provide such a ridiculous way for housebound geeks to talk with women, maybe they should help the guys out of the basement first. It reminds me of those websites where anorexic girls write that their parents are begging them to gain weight, and helpful people post replies like, "Sew rocks in your clothes before they weigh you and they'll never catch on!"

So, thanks, Thrillist. We get the message. Guys have money, girls have vaginas, and capitalism ensues. Everything between them -- all the way from playing Yahtzee to toe-sucking -- is bought and paid for. You've filled in that gap between incipient geekdom and Elliott Spitzer.

I'm sure SexyKitty et al. will claim this new venture is empowering, blah blah blah. Women are taking their futures into their own hands! Sure they are. Now c'mon, baby: back to Ms. Pacman. Your pouty little mouth needs to keep swallowing those creamy white dots until Daddy tells you to stop.

Well, thank God all of the world's problems have been solved and now smart people have time to spend inventing fabulous luxuries. Austrian inventors Muto Christian Steyrl decided to fill one of mankind's most important needs: How to get fucked when you're alone and the batteries have run down on your vibrator.

Featuring a built-in solar panel, transformer and voltmeter, "Fucking With the Sun" utilizes the sun's energy to power a cable-connected vibrator. Also included in the kit is a tripod which can be used to prop up the machine at an optimal angle. The designer states that all components "fit neatly into a suitcase, making the tool easily portable."

Still, you can count me out. Though it's smart, dependable, and fun to travel with, it reminds me of my boyfriend Raoul. A lot of fun in daylight, but shuts down dead when the lights go out.

Dear Paper Towels:

I sincerely appreciate your efforts to bend to my every whim. I really appreciate that attitude. In reality, though, I find your lack of decision-making irritating. I am a busy man, and my brain is already overloaded with thoughts. Plus, in this case the decision involved has very little impact. If I pull an entire paper towel off the roll when I only need half, no kittens will be killed, no buses will crash, no tsunami will be unleashed.

In the future, then, please Select A Size your goddamn self.

Thanks much,
RomanHans

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere mallards quack;
But there is no joy in Gayville — Cathy's uttered her last "Ack!"

A 17-year-old Michigan girl began her big game hunting career with a bang — or rather a whoosh — by killing a 448-pound black bear with a bow and arrow from 16 yards away.

High school senior Jessica Olmstead of Battle Creek shot the bear during a hunting trip last month in Oba, Ontario.


The 17-year-old credits her father Tim with teaching her how to track, how to hunt, and how to stuff a rock in the dead bear's mouth to make it look like it's smiling.

British scientists have discovered one reason why sex makes people happy.

According to studies, semen contains mood-enhancing chemicals like cortisol (known to increase affection), estrone (which elevates mood), prolactin (a natural antidepressant), oxytocin (also elevates mood), thyrotropin-releasing hormone (another antidepressant), melatonin (a sleep-inducing agent) and even serotonin (perhaps the most well-known antidepressant neurotransmitter).

Ingestion of semen through any form of intercourse, then, could make your day noticeably brighter.

That's good to know. Next time some guy tells me to smile, I'm going to say "Make me."

When the Wildlife Conservation Society recently discovered a beaver living in the Bronx River, it did the neighborly thing and asked local residents to help name the little critter. And when the Bronx Zoo opened up the competition to online voting, it all but guaranteed the end result: ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Justin Beaver.

Sigh. Aside from being nonsensical, it's insulting. I mean, one's a floppy-haired rodent who can chew a branch into sawdust with his powerful front teeth and lives in a log home by the river.

And the other sang Baby Baby Baby Oh.

What If Sarah Palin Wrote The Gettysburg Address?

Four score and a buncha years ago our fathers brang forth to this continent a whole new nation, born outta liberty, and dedicated to the preposition that everybody's equal. Now we are engaged to be married in a huge civil war, which is basically a buncha guys fighting another buncha guys, testing whether --

Gosh, this is long. I think it's saying if we don't shrink the government we're all sunk. Look, here's my son Trig. Everybody watch Bristol on Dancing With the Stars!

This morning 300 New Yorkers broke the world record for "world's largest strength training workout using resistance bands" on Seventh Avenue.

And tomorrow 300 New Yorkers will discover a stretchy leash is a really bad idea, because after your dog runs for three seconds he comes flying at your face.

The good news is, they're not sitting on the porch yelling at kids to get off of their lawn.

Charity-minded callers are getting intercepted by a phone-sex line because of a typo on cereal boxes.

The phone number is supposed to connect callers to Feed the Children. But the box has the wrong toll-free prefix, meaning callers get a seductive-sounding woman who makes risque suggestions and then asks for a credit card number.

Ha! Yeah, it was a mistake. I knew something was up from the name Apple Jacks.

Carl Paladino's campaign staff is furious about Joy Behar's cavalier treatment of the sanctity of marriage defender's secret family.

"Joy Behar should be absolutely ashamed of herself for referring to Carl's daughter as illegitimate. She's a child and does not deserve that kind of treatment from a woman who should know better. That's catty, it's pissy and strikes of something that someone would say when suffering from a sudden hot flash. The only person here who's illegitimate is Joy Behar's hairstylist."

Sarah Palin chimed in minutes later, adding "Refudiate that, bitches!"

Alberto Contador, a three-time winner of the Tour de France, tested positive for a banned substance in blood taken during this year's race.

Facing the loss of his 2010 Tour title and a two-year ban from the sport, Contador says he unknowingly ingested the chemical when he was served old meat at a hotel restaurant.

Yes, sucking down old meat is a performance-enhancer. Look! I just ran to Spain.

Larry the Cable Guy is selling his house.


This is the den. Look at all those guitars! When you're that rich, you can have one just for Daughtry songs. The good news is, if he jumps up and says he's going to entertain you, it doesn't necessarily mean he's going to tell a joke.

This is the living room.


If Gilligan and the Skipper ever moved in together, I like to think their place would look like this.

The kitchen is also golden brown.


That's eight thousand square feet for every Hot Pocket in the fridge.

Larry's probably got mixed feelings about selling, with so many happy memories lingering in all those manly construction materials.

ARCHITECT: Larry, there's no way we can finish the place on time. The world is currently experiencing a shortage of wood, brick, and rope.

LARRY: Git r done!

Record Cover of the Week

After months of he-said-she-said, psychotic phone calls and charges of extortion, here's what the Mel Gibson scandal boils down to:

We are never going to see the curious bit of fluff that is Jodie Foster's "Beaver."


You know, I was kind of looking forward to seeing it, if only to answer this question: What would prompt a respectable member of society to run around with a brainless puppet? I guess anything's better than living in a dam.

The good news: Mother Nature still surprises and delights us with wonderful new creatures that demonstrate her diversity.

The bad news: Somewhere in Alabama, there's a sign in a restaurant window advertising the world's largest pork chops.

Anderson Cooper pulled no punches last night when he interviewed Andrew Shirvell, the Assistant District Attorney from Michigan who spends his time blogging about Chris Armstrong, the openly gay President of the University of Michigan's student body.

"The University’s first openly 'gay' student body president . . . is actively recruiting your sons and daughters to join the homosexual 'lifestyle," reads a typical post on Shirvell's website, Chris Armstrong Watch, where he also calls Armstrong "Satan's representative."

"Are you a bigot?" Cooper asked. "Aren't you a cyber-bully? . . . It appears, though, that you're obsessed with this young gay man."

"I sense anger in your voice," Shirvell replied.

No, not really. Actually, most of the world is wondering how you can stand there and defend yourself when you're obviously about three seconds away from being caught with Chris Armstrong's jockstrap in your mouth.

New Yorkers are complicated people. Yesterday on the subway I saw a guy who had a tattoo of a hand with the middle finger extended, and he was wearing an astrological pendant.

What's the unspoken message he wants to give people? Fuck yourself. And in case you're wondering, I'm a Virgo!

Picked Up By Microphones at Dancing With The Stars

BRISTOL: Mama, I can't believe I made a fool out of myself in front of twenty million people!

SARAH: Yup, sweetie, that's a great start!

Last night some talk show host praised Obama, and it got me nostalgic. Sure, maybe he hasn't been a great president, but he hasn't been too bad, right? We expected a lot, and we were pissed off when we didn't get it.

Rather than compare him to perfection, I thought, maybe we should grade him on a curve -- because honestly, there are some real idiots out there. Did Obama tell us we shouldn't masturbate? Did he hold an African-American convention and hire Michelle "Bombshell" McGee to speak? Did he applaud wildly as Malia played a deer in headlights on Dancing With the Stars?

It's like criticizing George Clooney for looking dumb on The Facts of Life.

The thing is, President Obama's missteps get magnified because he's the dude in charge. He has the Democrat reputation in his hands. When he says something stupid, it gets under our skin.

Now, I am also the commander in chief of an armed forces that is in the midst of one war and wrapping up another one. So I don't think it's too much to ask, to say "Let's do this in an orderly way" — to ensure, by the way, that gays and lesbians who are serving honorably in our armed forces aren't subject to harassment and bullying and a whole bunch of other stuff once we implement the policy.

That's the excuse Obama gave to Rolling Stone for not repealing DADT.

When I read this, I tried to grade it on a curve. I tried. But to me, something is either true or it isn't. There's no gray area. Saying penguins live on the North Pole isn't any smarter than saying they take their tuxedos off at night.

Clearly, this explanation is ridiculous. Obama doesn't want gays to be harassed or bullied. Then why do gay kids go to school?

In the end, neither party comes through. Same result, different motivation. I ask myself: Would the bus driver have gotten off the hook if he'd told Rosa Parks the seats were stuffed with goose feathers in back?

And then I circle back to my original decision.

Fuck them all. Fuck us. When everybody lies, all that matters is how well we dance.

Now pardon me; it's time for my Cha-Cha.

Did I miss some news about Amazon.com?  Like, in the last year or two it was taken over by monkeys?  Scratch that:  monkeys have opposable thumbs.  Was it bought out by pillbugs?

It took Amazon four days to get my last purchase to the post office, which made them just slightly slower to fulfill orders than the woman who crochets custom toilet seat covers on Etsy.  Still, it's not like I've got a choice.  I'm boycotting Target. I refuse to set foot in Kmart, having no desire for the fumes of rotisseried hot dogs to lacquer the insides of my nostrils. And there's no Wal-Mart here, because even the city that gave you Donald Trump has some kind of standards.

So, what am I stuck with?  Rite-Aid.  And while Amazon sells the automatic toothbrush heads I need for $21, at Rite-Aid they're $37.

I've always thought their store motto should be, "Hah!  Gotcha!"

Needless to say, I went with Amazon.  And while I was checking out, they offered me all sorts of fabulous opportunities.  If I applied for their credit card, I'd get my order free.  If I joined Amazon Prime for $80, I'd get cheap shipping.  If I paired my purchase with some Stetson cologne and a bale of hay, they'd give me three extra entries in their "Who Wants To Win A Pony?" contest.

And then there was the Subscribe & Save program.  They'd automatically send me replacement brush heads every six months, and I'd get 15% off and free shipping.  Cancel at any time!

I thought for a second.  Free shipping? And "any time" includes "two minutes after I get my order," right?  I was raised by wolves, not idiots.

Three days later, I got this email:

The next shipment of your subscription item Philips Sonicare Elite (E-Series) Replacement Brush Head, Standard (2-Pack) has encountered an unexpected problem. We are working to correct the issue, but your shipment will be delayed.

And once again Amazon has proven that the words "in stock" on their website actually translate to "We haven't seen it since your bedroom was plastered with Mark Spitz photos, but it's gotta be around here somewhere."  They're oddly vague about this "problem," and how long the delay will be. They sound like the guy who comes onstage to tell you the concert will start late without specifically stating that Grace Jones just stuck her head in the toilet because she wanted to see mermaids.

Still, I'm more curious than irritated. When Radar magazine folded halfway through my subscription, they started sending me Psychology Today instead. What could Amazon substitute for toothbrush heads? Mittens? A cactus? I'm tempted to call up and talk to somebody, but I'm thinking I'd probably make a loud noise and then they'd just curl up and roll away.

You know how they say if your hand itches, it means somebody's going to give you money? Evidently, somebody's going to give me a blowjob.

I Am Not Like Whatever

My friend Raoul is always like whatever.
Want to go to the mall? I ask.
Want to watch TV? I ask.
Want to play a videogame? I ask.
Like whatever, he always says.

I am not like Raoul.
I am strong. I am decisive.
Every step I take shows the direction I am headed.

I am not like whatever.
I am totally like what.

Non-gay pastor Eddie Long now has four men saying he molested them when they were teenagers. He's still proclaiming his innocence, and claims he's going to fight back. Naturally there's a Biblical reference: "I feel like David against Goliath," he says.

News flash to Mr. Long: if you don't want to sound gay, maybe avoid talking about how the next time a big guy comes along you're going to whip out your giant stones and aim at face.

A Sarah Palin-supported website called "Take Back the Twenty" wants Tea Baggers to replace Democrats for 20 U. S. House seats, but they're using an odd graphic to convey to their supporters exactly what needs to be done.


Got that? "We've diagnosed the problem. . . . Help us prescribe the solution."

Dudes, just judging from the cross-hairs, it looks like you've already decided on a solution but you're short of either shooters or ammo.

A couple of homophobic bakers didn't quite get their story straight after refusing to make rainbow cupcakes for a gay student group.

"Look around, we don't have cupcakes," said Lilly Stockton, co-owner of Indianapolis' Just Cookies. "I don't have enough colors to do that."

"[W]e're a family-run business," added her husband David. "We have two young, impressionable daughters and we thought maybe it was best not to do that."

Wow. That's kind of a disconnect. I'm thinking if they were sitting at a table during this interview, she'd have kicked his legs until they were black and blue.

Well, since they're against color-mixing, I'm hoping one was black and the other blue.

Meanwhile, you want a black-and-white cookie? Buy a black one and a white one and GO HOME. Nobody wants to teach impressionable kids that all sorts of different frostings can live in harmony on a baked good. Next they'll be thinking it's okay for bananas to rub up against apricots.

And now the idiots have a different question to answer:

IMPRESSIONABLE DAUGHTER: What's wrong with rainbow frosting, Daddy?

HOMOPHOBIC BAKER: People should eat the frosting God intended them to eat!

The icing on the cake? A one-star rating on Yelp, and 4% positive on Urban Spoon. Be sure to add your vote.

Celebrate Bisexuality Day!

I might. And I might not.

Looks like I'm not getting a Happy Meal.

Thomas Friedman from the New York Times

[F]rom the very opening session of this year’s World Economic Forum here in Tianjin, our Chinese hosts did not hesitate to do some comparing. China’s CCTV aired a skit showing four children — one wearing the Chinese flag, another the American, another the Indian, and another the Brazilian — getting ready to run a race. Before they take off, the American child, “Anthony,” boasts that he will win “because I always win,” and he jumps out to a big lead. But soon Anthony doubles over with cramps. “Now is our chance to overtake him for the first time!” shouts the Chinese child. “What’s wrong with Anthony?” asks another. “He is overweight and flabby,” says another child. “He ate too many hamburgers.”

If it's any consolation, the Brazilian kid came in third, tripping on his thong.

In a 30-second TV spot released Thursday, [Carly] Fiorina, the Republican Senate nominee in California and a former chief executive of Hewlett-Packard, attacks her Democratic rival, Senator Barbara Boxer, for her “arrogance” at insisting that a general call her “senator” rather than “ma’am.”

And how about that Obama character? Totally doesn't like it when journalists precede a question with, "So here's what I'm wondering, ma brotha."

David Whitley, national columnist at AOL's sports website FanHouse, applauds the Louis Cardinals' refusal to show same-sex couples on the stadium Kiss Cam.

I'd like to take the socially enlightened high road on this one, but I can't help sympathizing with that father who'll be sitting next to his son or daughter at Busch Stadium. "Daddy, why are those two men kissing?"

Is that really such a tough question to answer? Obviously they must have run out of condoms.

Gay Man's Map of Europe & Asia

"SAUNAS"? Really, that's what England is known for? Me, I'd pencil in something like, "GAYDAR IS DISABLED HERE."

"I Am Not Gay," Says Guy Wearing A Hat In The Bathroom

Totally Not Gay Ted Haggard Needs To Learn That If You Don't Leave The Peroxide in Long Enough Your Hair Goes Brassy

CBS Continues to Build Anticipation for "$#*! My Dad Says"

The [pilot] episode was also largely rewritten; among the new jokes: “You should see my zucchini.” “I think I did last night when you answered the door in your jammies.”

This week David Beckham allegedly paid a "Bosnian bombshell" $10,000 for sex; she snipes, "I wasn't impressed."

Actually, babe, for $10,000, if he didn't leave you handcuffed to Abe Vigoda with a mouthful of hummus, you should be fuckin' thrilled.

On Saturday I got a birthday present in the mail from my Auntie Phil. (She's actually a woman: it's short for Philomena, I think.) It was a box of Texas Chewy Pecan Pralines from Lammes Candies. I love ye olde regional specialty candies -- Lammes has been making pralines since 1885 -- so I was pretty happy to get them. They're an instantly-acquired taste: the first bite establishes a salty-caramel, toffee flavor in your mouth, and after that your taste buds pretty much just scream for another fix.

I ate four out of sixteen, and I went to bed that night patting myself on the back for stopping just short of gluttony.

And when I woke up the next morning I was covered from neck to knee in red spots.

I Googled "allergic to pecans" and found 11,200 hits. My affliction had a name:

Hives.

I found this picture on some health website:


I felt like taking a picture of myself and mailing it to this guy with a note saying, "Hey, dude, you wanna see hives?"

I took a Benadryl. I always keep it in my medicine chest for those times I want to feel like I've been hit by a truck. And I waited. I had two kinds of spots, I discovered: the ones that itched like hell, and the ones that burned. I took another Benadryl. And another.

Worked like a charm. Now I'm too weak to scratch. It's that kind of blitzed where you decide to cut something out of the newspaper and two minutes later realize you've accidentally plunged the scissors into your forehead.

Meanwhile, I'm trying not to play victim, but I'm wondering why I need a prescription to buy vampire contact lenses but I can go to any store and pick up something that'll turn me into a human pincushion. The Italian "sleeping aid" I bought from a dodgy website came with fewer warnings than these Pecan Chewies.

So, I'm taking it easy today. I'm heavily drugged. I feel miserable. Besides, I've got to write up a thank-you note to Auntie Phil. I figure the right message has to be somewhere between, "Those things are abso-freakin'-licious!" and "Thanks for giving me the look of runaway VD without all the bother of sex."

KFC will pay college girls $500 to walk around campus wearing sweatpants that bear the "Double Down" logo on the ass. "On select college campuses," the press release says, "female undergraduates will sport KFC Double Down branded sweatpants to encourage students to try the unique bun-less sandwich."

"Double Down"?

Considering how much fat is in their food, if they really have to put a poker term on women's sweatpants it should probably be "Split a Pair."