French Kiss First, Introductions Later.

Yet swerve he did NOT, and put his arms around me, and kissed me like Bogart kissed Bergman in Casablanca.

Yipes.

Careful to keep my New York cool, I then shook his hand and said:

“How do you do? I’m Elizabeth. And your name is?”

Heroes: the Soap Opera

I guess the Laws of Conservation of Mass go out the window in TV Land. Unless, maybe, if Sylar turns into a really short guy, he becomes as dense as kryptonite.

But what I really like about Sylar is his power to make his hair look really stupid.

The Dumbass News.

Gotta be ready to shoot fast, in case there’s a showdown in the middle of the street in Montpelier, I guess Gordon was thinking at the time.

At least, up until the time the revolver went off, and he shot himself in his own leg.

Let’s Judge a Few Books by Their Covers.

Not that I am in the least bit deserving of any sort of Special Treatment, but like my dog, I galumph through the world, expecting everyone to like me. (And if they’re cute, they can pet me.) I talk to absolute strangers as if I’ve known them my whole life – sometimes as if we’re already having a conversation.

The Wondrous Vulva Puppet.

This is The Wondrous Vulva Puppet, brought to my attention by — of all people — my 11-year-old, Heaven help us all.

My first thought: now I’ve seen everything.

My immediate second thought? I haven’t. This tomfoolery is, in all likelihood, merely the tip of a mammoth iceberg of absurdity. I am but a hapless explorer, beginning a trek into a world of goofiness, a cartographer mapping out a journey to the center of silliness.

Armageddon rapidly recedes into the far distant future. Who would rain hellfire onto a universe festooned with such buffoonery?

The Snarling, Sarcastic, Turn Myself Into A Crabby Dowager Project

Are you scared?

I am. A little.

This is SIlly Scott, from Portsmouth, UK, who is wiling, nay, eager, although I can’t tell who looks more timid, Scott or his lupine captive…