Tuesday, October 28, 2003

"And, hundreds of nude women on display. Next at eleven."

This was actually the commercial lead-in for the news the other day. Oh, honey, got class? Why didn't the anchor just go, "I'll be ripping the still-beating heart out from the chest of the weather guy and eating it before his anguished eyes live on the air, next at eleven"?

It was a story about some artist (coughcoughpervertcoughcough) in New York City who amassed all these naked women in Grand Central Station to take their picture. He did not pay them, but, on the up side, Helen Thomas was not present. Also, now you know why I get all my news from Drudge. He's less sensational.

As always, I am left with many questions:


You know what, no I'm not. Nothing surprises me anymore. As my lawyer friend Flip (not Flipper my rollerblading partner-- totally different hair, totally different genders) said last night, "When you can't trust the herion dealers anymore, who can you trust?"

Flip also wins the competition for being the first reader to accuse BlondeChampagne of sounding suspiciously like a porn site. You're not too far off today, my friend: Prize is a photo session with Pervert Grand Central Station Guy. Enjoy.

No comments:

Previous Tastings