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DREGUBLOG MONTHLY ARCHIVE: February 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
QUOTE OF THE DAY, DEDICATED TO BRITNEY
"The attacks of which I have been the object have broken the spring of life in me... People don't realize what it feels like to be constantly insulted."
-- Edouard Manet
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THE THREAT OF CHINA ON THE GLOBAL ECONOMY, OR GOD DAMMIT, HONEY, I ASKED YOU NOT TO TOUCH THAT DIRTY CHICKEN
I would love to talk about China's Shanghai Composite Index..I would love to go on and on in a deep strangled voice, long entombed and engorged with really shitty "The Mummy"-like special effects, about how yesterday’s stock market plunge underscores how the U.S. economy is now shackled to the broader global economy, what with Shanghai dropping nine points and blah blah blah, and how China might be dribbling bad economic pork into our mu-shus and pretty soon the entire United States will be as fucked as Flint, Michigan.
But I am too TIRED. I'll just wait for Hollywood to make a movie about it so I can say, "That. That movie. That's pretty much how I think about that economic crisis, there.”
Take tonight, where, buoyed by possibility after getting this assignment, I was suddenly in Costco...where I was inveigled to join my fat garrulous neighbor Pam because her membership has expired and she needs--I don't know, eleven 16-lb feedbags of Kashi GoLean?-- and the truth is, we're out of food and the loveless quantities of Costco do in fact decrease the trips to market I so loathe...and somehow it was two and a half hours. Somehow I can go into Costco looking for mangos and leave the store with a fucking kayak, and that fact drives me to despair.
So the point is, being with Pam, bad as it was because she talks constantly about her now-deceased Samoyeds--it didn't make Costco that much worse, until she dropped a "Pipin' hot!" roasted chicken in the middle of the most congested aisle of the store, thereby causing widespread anger and dismay for all the Mercenary Shoppers who couldn't move their dual-purpose aircraft-carrier-slash-grocery carts past her without spinning out inelegantly in the greasy chicken-slick. That made the night entirely worthwhile, and I'm being totally serious.
And it was also fun admonishing the boys that if they didn't quiet down I'd break off one of their fingers at the knuckle. They like this kind of tough love. It's really not so different from the way you and I like to be pushed down the stairs by the men in our life when we get the bacon too crispy. Since every grim fucker in Costco is in such an unrelenting ass clench anyway, casual mentions of pedia-amputation don't engender much warmth.
Anyway, I just came home, put away google-packs of romaine lettuce and palettes of 9 thousand toilet paper rolls, turned the tv on for the boys, and drank half a bottle of wine in, oh, 10 minutes.
Sure I want to talk intelligently about the Global economy, but mostly I am just falling asleep with my shoes still on, and that's sad.
I hate Portland. I am so sick of the people here who wear Tevas to the opera. The only thing that whips them into a semblance of passion is politics, which they are rarely impacting in any way beyond histrionics and emitting faint molecules of spittle as they talk...which is neither here nor there. Anyway, put a 12 pack of THAT in your Subaru Fucking Outback and drive it to China.
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Tuesday, February 27, 2007
WHEN I GROW UP I WANT TO BE LIKE SAM!
Ever since I acquired cable TV, I have been taken with a program called "Law and Order." Have you heard of it? Evidently, it's very popular, because it is on nineteen hours a day. It has certainly caught on in France.
On it, noted TD Ameritrade spokesman Sam Waterston plays Assistant District Attorney Jack McCoy, a fiery pup of a man whose eyes grow so wide when angry that I fear they will fall out. He is concerned only with the execution of legal justice, except for times he becomes preoccupied with the execution of Justice. His voice quivers as he admonishes murderer after rapist, cracking only because the burden of Justice is too much for his aging and oft-enraged vocal cords.
Sam's eyes remain securely in his head, for the time being.
I wonder what it would be like if he were real...and prosecuting the Scooter Libby trial. One thing's for sure: This woman would be less cranky.
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They MISSED!
An al-Qaeda Suicide bomber probably only received 14 out of 72 black-eyed virgins today after narrowly missing his target of Viceman Darth Cheney.
What an exciting week for the Viceman: Seymour Hersh outs the fact that Special Ops are already lurking around Iran, doing icky chaos-causing things, like trying to find the Danzig Post Office.
Hans Blix thinks we're "humiliating" Iran -- and you know how those hot-blooded Middle Eastern guys just LOVE being humilated. It makes them docile and friendly and cooperative afterwards, as long as you make sure they're all dead.
Hey, is it me, or is it starting to smell like 1939 around here? Or is it more like 1945, since Congress got its power cord kicked out of the wall?
Well, I guess after those boys declare war on Iran all by themselves, Cheney will just declare Congress to be his personal Reichstag, rip out all the annoying institutional parts and replace it with a nice sundeck, reflecting pond, and maximum-security detention facility.
Keepin' it real, Vice. Do the world a favor and stand a little closer to the exploding guy next time.
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The meme of celebrities being "just like us" is true, they're the same species as we are, and as such are vulnerable to the same maladies and bad habits as the rest of us. But their celebrity gives them some wiggle room on the consequences. As long as they're earning, celebrities are surrounded by people who do their bidding and keep their mouths shut, like the slaves on HBO's Rome who linger in the room while Atia and Marc Antony fuck. I've never heard of a celebrity buying their own drugs, at least not until they hit the skids like a lesser Baldwin; so logic tells us that a member of the lamprey-like entourage is in charge of scoring a celebrity's shit. Logic also tells us that sooner or later that lamprey is going to sell their story, like Britney's husband-for-a-day Jason Alexander.
I've had two experiences with the members of a celebrity entourages who do the narco-procuring. One was an ex-boyfriend who took up with a dealer in Los Angeles and would tell me the gossip about whose hairdresser was supplying who from their cache of almost -pure heroin which was allegedly stored in coffee cans underneath Producer/Studio Head/Mega-Philanthropist Sherry Lansing's home (without her knowledge).
The whole thing ended badly for them on the business end of (then) Los Angeles Police Chief Darryl Gates' favorite toy, a surplus tank that had been modified as a battering ram. Police recorded the seizure of the largest amount of heroin in Los Angeles in years. More than a few stars had an unscheduled detox that week.
The other was a phone call, late at night from one of the people you meet and party with at nightclubs, claiming to be with Robert Downey Jr. and looking for cocaine and a place to hang out. I suppose I could have made a few calls, but I was sketchy from a long weekend already and my good brain cell reminded me that my roommate had hopes for a career as a DP and a star behaving badly in his living room might be a bad thing.
The rather long route to my point is that the scandals that we see on teevee are really quite commonplace. The courts are filled with drunk drivers and small-time dabblers in the drug trade who could, with a little talent and Hollywood Magic, be splashed on the pages of The Star for our entertainment and water cooler-dissection. In fact, if our appetite for personal destruction becomes any more jaded, I predict an spin-off for American Idol where the losers are tracked as they beat their partners and OD like the rest of us
Oh wait, that's COPS.
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Monday, February 26, 2007
HOWLING IN THE HALLS OF NIGHT
OK, I've been up all night, and sssskkkkkhhhhwhhkllmmmmmmuuuhhhhh.
Read it here. The Annual Oscars Meltdown. After which I annually melt. Down.
It will probably take until around 8 to go up, but hell, you guys are probably all in bed anyway.
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Sunday, February 25, 2007
THE GOOGLOSCARS
In the spirit of tonight's awards, I present this month's nominees for Creepiest Search Phrase Used To Find CintraWilson.com.
- mom and son drunken incest pictures
- how tall is Joe Biden, D-Del
- what slobodan milosevic did in his lifetime
- big & attractive breasts snaps
- anorexic inspiration
You, the commenters, are the academy, for all intents and purposes, so have at it!
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A false idol for your worship, just in time for Oscar night.
And if there was a third head, you can bet your ass it would be Sally Kirkland's.
Tuck your Oscar comments right under here. I'll be watching. And so will SLUNKY!
REPENT
Click for Enlarged SLUNKY
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Cintra Wilson.com would like to introduce two new contributors to this here blog: Steven Felty, who has been the Ignatius Reilly to my Myrna Minkoff for centuries, and Ian Ransom, who has been posting feverish 2000 word tomes in the "comments" section so often, it was obvious he deserved his very own soap-box.
Welcome, fellas (sounds of ululating and appreciative chest-beating.)
And in case you were wondering....No, there IS no life beyond Thunderdome.
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Saturday, February 24, 2007
TWO HOLES GOOD, THREE HOLES BAD
The same week that Anna, Britney, Paula and the rest of the Fallen Women were all getting heel-kicked, La Traviata-style, by better members of society, the AP broke incredible scientific news that confirmed every woman’s worst fears, and every man’s worst suspicions.
Girl Cooties. They are real. I am not joking. This is deadly serious.
A scientific research study funded by the eight-year old boys of the Clorox corporation concluded, “If you're a woman, chances are your workspace has more germs than your male co-workers.”
Ladies….we are UNCLEAN. That not-so-fresh-feeling? Yep, you guessed it….actual, terrible, disease-causing filth.
Inescapably true, according to science.
The “$40,000 study” by University of Arizona professor Charles Gerba proved that “Women have three to four times the number of bacteria in, on and around their desks, phones, computers, keyboards, drawers and personal items as men do.”
"I thought for sure men would be germier," Gerba remarked.
But he was wrong. God….terribly, terribly wrong.
Gerba’s wife could not be reached for comment, because tragically, she, too, is encased in near-impenetrable layers of dirt, grime, and disease-causing bacteria. She probably doesn’t even touch the phone anymore, let alone the children, unless she gets a full, Karen Silkwood-style, Clorox decontamination shower. Then she is no doubt required to wear one of those white space-suits they use to clean up PCB-spills.
But….for real. No, really: we girls would have to sit around totally submerged in Clorox isolation tanks all day and night like we were Jean-Paul Marat to kill all our lady germs altogether. Even then, the risk of infection is still extremely high. Scientific fact.
As for the inner cleansing: forget it. You’d need a hot-water bottle the size of Nebraska.
Ladies, don’t let this heartbreaking plague spread. Be a responsible community leader by being the first to have your Hoo-Hah waxed, sterilized, and permanently sealed with two-part foam insulation. You may deposit your unused clitoris into your nearest public biohazard container. It’s the only decent and responsible thing to do, for the health of your family.
And then we’ll make a wonderful lasagna.
(We won’t eat any, though, because we’re too fat.)
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Friday, February 23, 2007
OSCAR VS. GROUCH
Yes, Dear Fiends, I'll be poinking at them again from the thoroughly disconnected vantage point of my distant perch in Bloodshot, Insomnia. No station-break podcasts with La Paglia, just the straight wordage at 6AM EST on Salon.com.
But if anyone is hanging out on the ol' blogpile, here, I'm sure I will be trawling for punchlines all night long. Come on over, I'll bake a tray of Vivarin-Cheerio chew-bars.
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Find out about the dirty exploits of PRINCE FRIEDRICH VON ANHALT and hear Cintra's finest Tucker Carlson!
Like what you're hearing? Download it. Or subscribe to the podcast feed!
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Well, I figured everyone has had their fun, by now, with the BETA version of the Dregulator video podcast.....so I set it free, into the East River. It sat burning on the surface for a while like a sinister, pulsating orange glob, boiling the water around it in an eight foot radius. Then, I'm afraid it was eaten by one of the river's legendary giant eels.
It's my cryptofascist history and I'll rewrite it if I want to.
We learned a lot from that little experiment: namely, never put anything on YouTube that you wouldn't want a bunch of twunts looking at.
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Thursday, February 22, 2007
SAVE THE WALES: GOD SPARE THE SPARE
God, remember when Prince Harry was just doing innocent things like experimenting with drugs, fondling women in nightclubs and running around in a Nazi uniform?
Now they’ve give him serious weaponry, and I fear for the future of mankind.
From Bloomberg UK: “Cornet Wales will carry out a normal troop commander's role, involving leading a troop of 12 men in four Scimitar armored reconnaissance vehicles, each with a crew of three,'' the defense ministry said in an e-mailed statement.
The U.K. monarch is the head of the military so Prince Harry will report ultimately to his grandmother.”
Now, if this isn’t proof that the monarchy has outlived its usefulness, I am not sure what is. Harry, tell your Gramma to stop being such a busybody in other people’s conflicts.
After all, at the end of the day, after Charles and Camilla finish royally dorking around the world in their midlife fit of altru-tourism, and hand the leftovers to Prince “Heir-ier Than Harry” William and Princess Posh Spice, the only thing you’re likely to inherit is a pile of used Hermes scarves.
Harry….forget serving your county; they know not what they do. Run along and go fuck Paris Hilton, like all the other young European aristocracy.
Or buy a baseball team and bankrupt it. Or become an eco-terrorist and declare war against bacon. Don’t beat up your family by hurling yourself down their foreign policy-pit. They already know they’re stupid.
There’s plenty of ways for disgruntled royal lad like yourself to have a good time that doesn’t involve screwing the middle eastern peoples. Look where that got your mother.
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Wednesday, February 21, 2007
MY ASS, TORN OUT ON GAWKER!
Oooooh, ouch, ow.Thank you sirs, may I have another.
Well, I guess the first DREGULATOR video might have been a little over-the-top, for some people, and gave them concern as to my state of mental health. Hey, it's not like I expected anyone to actually WATCH the damn thing.
But let it not be said that I can't take direction, or constructive criticism. I'm firing The World's Most Dangerous Onion, which may be complicated, because I'm sleeping with him.
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The charming and effervescent Matthew Phillp had some insight into cracking the elusive code of the New Celebrity:
"Is it too much to consider Anna Nicole a celebrity pioneer in getting press by actually dying? After all, Robbie Williams immediately then claimed to be fearing death as a result of her. He was first on the death bandwagon. He didn’t have to actually die but he still associated with it and people covered it. So, there’s genital flashing, buying children, rehab, being publicly depressed and now dying.
They’re the main techniques at the moment I think. It’s all about technique."
Agreed. Let us not forget that being stupidly maimed and/or having sex with convicted murderers is also a real attention-getter.
No attention is bad attention, sayeth the Morbid Narcissism. Onward now to more urinating in hotel lobbies, drunk driving and neck-tattoos.
Kurtz, The Two-Headed Calf, sez: welcome to worldwide Tijuana.
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Tuesday, February 20, 2007
I CAN NOW DIE HAPPY
Britney shaves her head, and Lo, a miracle: I realize my deep wish of appearing on Countdown with Keith "Zeus-With-Hot-Jack-Lord-Hair" Olbermann.
OK, it was the recycled TODAY segment, and I was only on for like four seconds.
But don't tell me it wasn't worth it, sacrificing that whole busload of orphans to the volcano!
That man is the future of broadcast journalism, with the power to fly straight into the sun and back out again! Keith! Oh unmeasurable delight!
Click "play" in the lower right corner.
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Brenda and Brenda love your inner Brenda, and therefore you should also be named Brenda. Come Brenda with us. We are all Brenda.
Actually, it's a spinoff of "Whining & Dining," only it's from the earlier parts of the evening where we haven't started drinking yet.
Skol!
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Unbelievably, I am going to be on TV again tonight, at 10:30 EST on the E! Channel, on something called "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," talking about the late great Chris Penn. You can also link here to my Salon article on Mr. Penn and read the gushings.
If you miss it, and you are really hot to see it, it will be airing again tomorrow evening.
I guess my biorhythms are really overexposed, this week.
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Monday, February 19, 2007
In Praise of Bald Britney
If you’ve been whoring yourself to pleasant Nazis since you were a child, it would be mighty traumatic to wake up one day and realize…..Oops.
As a jackbooted cryptofascist society, we take it personally when our slave-girls get ideas that they should belong to themselves. We feel hurt and betrayed, and lather up our puritan outrage. We grab the pitchforks and pine-clubs, and mob together for a good-old-fashioned witch-burning.
When you are being paraded through the streets and publicly humiliated – hell, why not shave your head? The tar will wash off easier...plus it’s an act of resistance.
Not the Best Head
What’s the point in donning the starve-spangled bikini and Barbie hair weeds, when they were your Nazi lapdance uniform, and you're the new Poland?
Better to be bald like Gandhi, far away, spinning your own humble, homespun diaper.
Everyone looks ridiculous crawling around in the mud while they’re re-planting themselves.
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Friday, February 9, 2007
RIP, Anna Nicole Smith
Today we who are Cintra Wilson divert your attentions over to Salon.com, for the official obituary.
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Wednesday, February 7, 2007
WHEN ASTRONAUTS ATTACK
I just don't understand why the news felt compelled to tell us about the horrible space-diapers that poor insane astraunaut woman was wearing. There were other puzzling details: wigs, latex gloves, pepper-spray.
God, I remember when astronauts only carried clipboards, Tang, and decorative bottles of Barbara Eden.
It really takes the romance out of it when you think of those heroic members of the Apollo 11 -- Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, floating around in orbit wearing diapers and wigs. I guess maybe the pepper spray goes with something like those little silver packets of freeze-dried Szechuan beef. All space food gets shrunk down into an airtight aluminum pouch, like ink-jet cartridges.
FOOD!
Things get pretty moody out in space, I guess. All that training, and then, at the end of the day, there you are with no gravity, some other astronaut is having sex with the astronaut you're supposed to be having sex with, you're trying to eat something that looks like a mylar baloon, and you have a load in your pants.
No wonder so many astronauts drank heavily. They were probably looking for Barbara at the bottom of that bottle.
Space: not so great, I guess, after all. An out-and-out downer, really.
But it makes sense. When you think about Richard Branson, you realize, wait, that is TOTALLY not his hair.
The "Sonia" wig, from NASA's Debbie Reynolds Signature Collection
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Tuesday, February 6, 2007
INDEX #2 : Acquiring Narcissistic Attention Units via the Public Befouling of Pants
Click for Enlarged Version
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Monday, February 5, 2007
DREGULATOR PODCAST #2
In the latest Dregulator Podcast, Cintra channels VICE CHENEY, THE WORLD'S MOST DANGEROUS TURNIP!
Like what you're hearing?Download it. Or subscribe to the podcast feed!
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I am impressed by this trend in chastity-unto-marriage, and this whole new deal where wealthy families throw a whole mini-wedding for their aging virgin daughters, wherein the possessor of the intact hymen-in-question accepts a gold ring from her father in exchange for a promise to “stay pure” until actual marriage ( she and Daddy then consummate their chaste incest by slow-dancing to “Butterfly Kisses,” no doubt). Still, the whole deal kind of strikes me as incomplete. It's somehow beating around the bush.
I say: just go the whole hog and give Daddy your clitoris, girls. I think Norelco is coming out with a three-speed, easy-home clit-remover sometime before 2008. What a gift for Father’s Day.
If he’s nice, he’ll gold plate it, and you can wear it around your neck as a sign to everyone that Daddy loved you enough to ruin sex for you forever.
Personally, I think refusing to have sex before your wedding night is like refusing to read dictionaries before your spelling bee…. but then again I am a Fallen Woman and this is the eighteenth century.
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The New York Times did that fidgeting, nosepicky, bullied-schoolboy thing it does sometimes and broke an important story on a Sunday – a SUPERBOWL Sunday, no less – but still managed to get its grubby little hands out of its own pants, ears and mouth long enough to report on private government defense contractors, and the way they have quietly scarfed down a truly unsettlingly large and important piece of the American pie.
Of special interest was the revelation that CACI international (a private defense contractor) has been assigned by the General Services Administration to “process cases of incompetence and fraud by federal contractors…”
(Who, um, outsourced their work to private defense contractors….like….uh…CACI).
Which strikes me as kind of like giving a bunch of crackheads the job of carefully observing a large box of i-Pods and attractive wristwatches in order to investigate whether or not they somehow magically evaporate.
It seems that much has happened to louse up the fair market since the Competition in Contracting Act of 1984, which allowed federal contracts to be outsourced to private contractors, who – ideally – were supposed to offer competitive bids for these contracts.
Well, it made sense on paper, but then the crackheads got distracted and hungry and wandered over to buy a burrito and when they came back the box was missing but nobody saw exactly how or why. But they heard that maybe you can buy an i-Pod from a friend of theirs.
Anyway, the Times thing reminded me of this article I found a few months ago by Anthony H. Anikeef who wrote it ostensibly to voice the frustrations of Bracewell & Giuliani LLP, (another private defense contracting outfit) who apparently encountered difficulty breaking into the marketplace during the nineties, when there was a major push to outsource government agency functions to private corporations:.
“There has been a massive increase in new contractors and the outsourcing of significant portions of agency activities at a time when there was been a substantial decrease in contract administration and oversight to guide and monitor these efforts…
“The GAO reports that DoD contract management has been a high risk area since 1992 because of a lack of sustained senior leadership, a capable acquisition work force, adequate pricing, appropriate contracting methods, and sufficient contract administration…The GAO and the press have reported substantial cost overruns and delays in addressing Iraq reconstruction efforts. Contractors were mobilized and then compelled to sit around for months, at enormous cost. The GAO also questions numerous sole-source contracts that have had poor results and high costs….
Much of the government’s procurement is now carried out in the virtual secrecy of task-and-delivery orders. There is little transparency into who is invited to participate, whether there is any competition, or whether the work falls within the scope of the overriding contract. With little government oversight, the system is further hamstrung by a lack of opportunity for industry policing through protests. As a result, insiders remain insiders, and new and potentially innovative entrants all too often remain shut out.”
Ah, Randall "Duke" Cunningham, we hardly knew ye….ye traitorous old slunk–trafficker.
No really, guys, have another fourteen lap dances. Put it on the American people’s tab. We’re too drunk to read what we're signing. Har har har. Ow. Quit hitting me. Want to buy an i-Pod?
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Sunday, February 4, 2007
O COME, LET US ADORE JAN VON SONTAG
Every once in a while, the Gods bless your boots, and a righteous, illuminating, charm-filled and super-talented young divinity tumbles gracefully into your life by answering your job-posting ad on Craigslist. This noble being teaches you what a "blog" is, and the ancient Runic codes for creating Links in Movable Type, and generally sits at your dining table and with patience and infinite good humor converts your whole website into a vivid, thriving organism you never had any clue it had the potential to be, before.
Ladies and Gentlemen, my esteemed webmaster JAN VON SONTAG is just such a Hero.
And a damned fine musician to boot. And possibly the snappiest dresser I have ever seen.
He should be diefied just for his collection of bicycle racing shirts, alone; especially since he doesn't have a bicycle.
In any case, this is a much deserved shout out, mad prop, and tip-o-the-Hat, Mr. von Sontag, from your endlessly grateful and adoring employer. You are just that slick.
I hereby present you with the very first official TERESA VON FUCHS AWARD for outstanding performance by a savvy young assistant. Amen.
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Thursday, February 1, 2007
DREGULATOR PODCAST #1
Cintra is now PODCASTING the Dregulator in her inimitable fashion. Listen to her dish the dirt - with Richard Wagner! You can listen to it right here:
Or you can download it. Of course, you can stay in your new-media train and subscribe to our podcast feed!
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Dana Milbank, in his Washington Sketch, always keeps an eye on the “tells” – the little Congressional tics and fidgets that would definitely give a Senator away in a game of Texas Hold’Em.
From an Article in Men’s Fitness by Joy Davidson
“John Millner… considered one of the nation's foremost experts in forensic uses of body language, points to the nose rub as a common sign of dishonesty - especially when it's combined with breached eye contact and a walling-off hand position…
By and large, Millner says, liars don't give themselves away with large gestures, but with ‘microexpressions’ - unusual movements, head angles and breathing rhythms.”
Cathie Martin: Never Take This Woman to Vegas
During the Scooter Libby trial, former Vice Cheney communications director Cathie Martin, during her testimony,
“…..seemed uncomfortable, shifting in her chair, squinting at her interrogators, stealing quick glances at the jury, and repeatedly touching her cheek, ear, nose, lips and scalp.”
Today, Milbank told us about the unfortunate body language of James Baker, as he tried to endorse Bush’s plans for Iraq:
“Rubbing his fingers together and making motions with his mouth as if sucking on a hard candy, Baker pleaded: ‘Look, the president's plan ought to be given a chance. Give it a chance.’"
Even the bright TV lights of a State of the Union Address can’t conceal deep divisions in a politician’s soul. Mortals, ye canst not hide yer lyin’ eyes from Dana Milbank! :
“Bush called for the United States ‘to succeed in Iraq.’ Cheney again stood and clapped. Pelosi wiped her lips and remained seated, as did most Democrats…”
May Mr. Milbank continue give us all details of future Congressional lip-wiping, nose itching, pencil eating, hair-pulling, sweat-lathering, eyelid-fluttering, chest-beating, etc....with our extreme Dregulatorial gratitude.
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- Show Comments for DANA MILBANK: IDEAL MAH-JONG PARTNER [17 Reasons Why We Love Dana Milbank, Part 1] (1)
COMMENTS
I'm trying and trying, but the quote is hard to sing to the tune of "Toxic".
Posted by: steven at February 28, 2007 10:36 PM
She had quite a lively a spring in her step closing the distance between her Jaguar (?) and the guy and who first got the umbrella action.
Posted by: Sir Philip at March 1, 2007 4:23 PM
CONTRIBUTE TO THE CULTURAL DOGFIGHT