CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?
The Bystander has clearly been sleeping on the job lately because he failed to pick up on an exciting story from Lasi, Romania. According to the daily newspaper, 7 Plus, police picked up a woman stepping off a bus after passengers said she'd stolen a mobile phone. Unable to find any evidence of the missing item, they decided to make a call.

A muted ring sounded - from under her skirt. Still unable to spot the cell, they took her to the police station for a strip search, whereupon the phone was found - stuck up her ass.

I suppose some kudos has to be given for the sheer bravado needed to use such an unusual hiding place. However, the story has a twist: once the phone had been removed, the police simply gave it a quick rub down with disinfectant and returned it to the owner. I wonder if he or she was made aware of where the mobile had been?

YES, BUT IS IT REALLY ART?
According to David St. Hubbins, lead singer with Spinal Tap, "There's a fine line between stupid and clever." There's also a fine line between Art and Crap - unless the Art is actually constructed from crap.

Tomoko Takahashi is a Japanese artist living in Cardiff, Wales. And according to a report in the UK's Daily Telegraph (10/26/05), in an effort to produce a masterpiece of artistic creation, she managed to convince the Cardiff Arts Council to supply her with some $8000 to create a performance at a local arts center.

The act - if that's the right word - was to spend three hours walking across a plank of wood while drinking beer, the aim being to see how long she could do this before falling over smashed out of her tiny brain.

Following criticism from local council members (no, really?) a representative of the arts center said "This wasn't just about a woman drinking a lot of beer. This was a powerful piece of art."

Er, no. It was, in fact, about a woman drinking a lot of beer. And if this is Art, there are millions of artists in the country who regularly perform a similar piece every weekend as they leave the local bars. And they don't get a $8000 grant to do it.

But should any arts committee be looking to see a unique performance piece where a man drinks Starbucks coffee for a whole day with a view to seeing how long it is before he throws up, please send an e-mail to the Bystander and he'll be glad to help.

WRITING STYLE AND THE CURSE OF MULTILINGUALISM
"Prefer the Saxon word to the Romance," said Henry Watson Fowler in his The King's English; "Anglo-Saxon is a livelier tongue than Latin, so use Anglo-Saxon words” offered William Strunk and Elwyn Brooks White in The Elements of Style. Good advice if you're Aelthelred the Unready, Edmund the First, or Alfred the Great, but much more difficult to follow if you're a native speaker of the bastardized English language of the early 21st century.

If you also try to "use short words" rather than "utilize condensed vocabulary" then there's a fair chance you're going to be opting for the Anglo-Saxon by default. Apparently, in the early days of English, folks were a lot dimmmer and grunting out single syllable words was about the limits of their lingusitic capacity.

Following the arrival of those awful Latin types - Eyetalians and Frenchies - the intelligensia of the day (those with teeth and who didn't always smell of shit) began to pontificate extensively by exercising vernacular of a polysyllabic nature. No more "Oy, dick weed - shift your wagon" but a more gentile "peasant, remove thy vehicle from my immediate presence."

Invasion after invasion tossed new and even more exotic words into the nascent language until it became the lingua franca of today, resplendent in its many variations.

So expecting the average person to know whether a word derives from Anglo-Saxon or Arabic is optimistic. How about the origins of the hangings in the following Rogues Gallery?

alcohol, bandit, boulder, duck, history, hurricane, kidney, tomato, tulip, umbrella, wagon, window, zero.

How did you do? Here are the answers:

Arabic: alcohol, zero
Danish: boulder, kidney, window
Dutch: duck, wagon
Greek: history
Italian: bandit, umbrella
Spanish: hurricane, tomato
Turkish: tulip

No, the Bystander did not pluck these straight from his head - he's not that smart. But then again who is? Apart from a handful of academics and the various staff members working on the world's great dictionaries, who needs to know?

So go ahead and write as you need to write. English is a patchwork quilt of words forged in the fires of Empire, constantly changing with every breath a speaker takes. If you can't find the Anglo-Saxon, just make do with the English.

BRAINS BEFORE BRAWN - SOMETIMES BEING SMART IS BETTER
"Excuse me, sir, but could you help me?" I was drinking coffee at my local java spot when the gal from behind the counter came toward me clutching a jar of pickles twice the size of my head. I sensed a Fox reality show physical challenge coming on.

Just as I feared, she couldn't get the top off the new jar and thought I might have an answer, based on nothing more than the fact that I was a male and therefore genetically adapted for jar opening.

Wrong! Five foot six inches and 160 lbs of wiry muscle, padded generously at the waist with some extra carbohydrate reserves, doesn't qualify me for any task that requires strength, stamina, or agility. Sure, as long as I keep my balance on my motorcycle I can look like some macho biker dude ready for a bar fight, but if the damn thing was ever to fall over, I'd be the first to shout for the help of a cheerleading squad to pick it back up.

Needless to say, I responded as any insecure weakling would - "Sure, no problem, let me have a try." My mighty left hand gripped the top tightly, my right held firm the jar, and the beads of sweat rose to my forehead like a soggy mark of shame.

"Mmmh," I said, "This is on pretty tight. Maybe it's stuck."

Yeah, and maybe you're a pussy, wimp boy!

Clearly brute force was not going to get me out of this situation. Maybe I should have simply feigned a heart attack when she asked the question in the first place. No, what was needed was charm, wit, charisma, and intelligence. And I was worried that all of these were inside the jar.

"Try running it under hot water - that will help loosen it."

Physics, when used properly, can certainly help. Many times at school I asked myself, "Who the hell cares about coefficients of expansion? Will that help me buy a motorcycle, score with a chick, or get a free trip to Los Angeles?" Well, here was a chance to test the theory - and if not exactly helping me score with a chick, I might at least get a smile of appreciation.

As she ran the water, I dredged up another piece of physics trivia from my moribund mind - the reason the cap wouldn't turn had something to do with friction. Somehow I had to apply more force than my twisting wrist was able to do. But how?

"Give me a lever," said Archimedes, "and I will move the world." Moving the world is one thing, but I needed to move a jar lid, something a little smaller but at this point, much more important.

Aha! The idea hit.

"Any luck? I asked, glancing over to the counter after the sound of running water had stopped?

"No, it's still stuck."

With that air of confidence only the truly egotistical can exhibit, I strode across to the counter and began removing my belt.

"What we need," I explained, "is something that can grip the jar and then let us twist. And this belt is just the thing."

I looped the belt over the top and pulled it tight so that the leather and jar seemed stuck together. I wrapped the free leather around my left and and began to twist. As I pulled, the belt tightened, increasing the friction, and thus providing more force.

Pop. The lid gave and air was released. A couple more tugs and the reluctant lid gave in to the leverage and opened.

Maybe I hadn't dragged a baby from a burning building or saved a basket of kittens from being drowned in sack - both of which can have women blubbing at 20 paces - but it was close.

"Oh my goodness, I've never seen that before! You are so smart!"

Ego stroked. Masculinity restored. Intellectual judo at its best.

"You're most welcome, ma'am," I said as I headed jauntily back to my coffee, "Most welcome indeed."

BAD PARENT - TAKE MY KIDS
After working hard on me for some months now, the caring, compassionate people at General Motors have convinced me that I am indeed a bad parent. I hadn't realized until now just how negligent I have been and how much danger I am subjecting my sweet, innocent children to.

The TV ads show it all: cherubic children with frowns of disapproval looking to camera and asking, "But daddy, what would happen if we were in an accident?" or "But Daddy, what if we were pulled over by a gang of drug-fueled perverts with guns who laughed as they raped mommy over the hood and shot each of us for fun before turning their attentions - and sharp knives - on you?"

Yes, I admit it: I do not have OnStar. Let me say that again, loud and proud: "I do NOT have OnStar!!"

Bolstered by magazine ads where even more angelic offspring point the finger of blame at the heartless parent, I now realize that OnStar is no longer a luxury item to help Hummer drivers navigate the 101 around Los Angeles, but it is now an indispensible part of good parenting. Why, anyone who hasn't installed OnStar in their cars might as well strip their kids naked and put a bullet through their heads right now rather than have them endure the day-after-day trauma of knowing that their car cannot be tracked by satellite.

And imagine the taunting that goes on at school: "Ha ha ha, look at him! He doesn't have OnStar - let's report his parents to child services."

And imagine: "... and as if no further proof of negligence were necessary, your Honor, this man doesn't even have OnStar in his car. I move for having his children taken into care, his house being burned, and ritual flogging to death for the miscreant on live TV to ensure such blatant child abuse does not ever happen again."

It's no longer enough to have a cell phone: after all, the first thing the marauding gang of sex-crazed junkies-on-wheels will do - when they stop you in some Arkansas backwoods that you have accidentally driven down because you're too cheap to have GPS, let alone OnStar - is take you phone and insert it into one of your bodily orifaces. Then they'll move onto your wife and kids.

Yup. Folks in Iraq are living without water, power, security, or health care, and folks in Pakistan are having to live through earthquakes that wipe out over 30,000 people in a single hit - but the supportive folks at OnStar want to make sure that I can feel safe in my car for a mere $200 per year. What price true fatherhood? ("But daddy, what if the car breaks down 100 miles from anywhere, and your cell phone is dead, and there's no-one going to come along in 6 weeks, and there's a tornado heading straight for us, and the waters are rising on the road, and I'm out of heart medicine, and mommy's just gone into labor, and the alligators ...")

No sirree, I'll be signing up for the safety of OnStar just as soon as I can get through on their busy hotline. Lucky for me it isn't an emergency.

SO MUCH CRAP - HOW CAN THIS BE?
I can't believe how much absolute drivel there is in the blogging world. My previous tirade against inanity still stands, but I can't help randomly selecting blogs and reading them in the same way you can't help picking the scab off a sore and then wonder why you keep bleeding.

Here's a classic example of pseudo-philosophical, pretentious slurry that the writer clearly thinks is profound. How far off the mark can he/she be?

http://skeptikos.blogspot.com/

If you don't want to click - and I wouldn't blame you for giving it a miss - here's an example of meaningless rambling of the highest order:

"essence - what makes 'x' - x and not y - can be tracked down
within limitations - we can give 'increasingly approximate'
descriptions of x such that x is x and -y -

but all this will finally come down to making certain
philosophical /methodological decisions about how
to regard x and its descriptions

all finally (in terms of 'essence') arbitrary but - nevertheless
not without point or significance

individuation therefore is finally a decision - and the journey
to definition which is never complete - prompted originally
by veridical perception - another fact of the world - and
one that does not bear too much scrutiny"

Dear God, will it never end? What the fuck is he/she talking about? For some strange reason, there are folks out there who think that this sort of loquacious diarrhea is "intellectual," whereas in truth, it is flaccid verbal masturbation of the highest order. Spare me the "Well, maybe it's too complex for you to understand" response. No, it's hard to understand because it is devoid of content!

Am I being unfair to Skeptikos? Hell no. You put yourself up on the web in a public forum and you shouldn't be surprised if someone takes a pot shot with a wet sponge or a dead fish. Along with the "look how exciting my life is because I've traveled everywhere but still remain a regular person" blog, the "read how erudite and learned I am, and marvel at my depth of knowledge" blogs are guaranteed to make me gag - and I'd like to think that this vomiting reflex is just as likely to be elicited in other readers of such blogs.

So tell me, Bystander, how do you really feel?

SO WHAT'S THE TRICK WITH BLOGGING?
Number one on the list of "skills you must have" is the dogged determination to write something day after day after day. As is evidenced by the majority of blogs, it doesn't particularly matter what you write as long as it is something. You new haircut; the cat's herpes; George W. Bush is stupid; how wonderful I am - all these things and more are typical fodder for the blogger.

The second has to be an absolute faith in your own ego. You have to believe, above all else, that somehow what you have to say actually MATTERS! It does no harm to have an over-inflated sense of your own importance, and by all means feel free to talk about any topic under the sun, even if you know nothing about it. In truth, facts are something of an anathema in the blogging world. Toss them aside if they get in the way of whatever you want to spout about.

The third skill is to develop your own, unique style - and that's not necessarily a tautology. Some bloggers have their own derivative style, based on reading too much Drudge, Coulter, Limbaugh, and that chick who wrote the awful Washingtonienne book.

Finally, the blogger has to post on a daily basis. Yes, I said that for number one, but it's such an important skill that it bears mentioning twice.

On the evidence of the current state of affaires, clearly the Bystander is not a good blogger, with new blogs appearing only sporadically. However, in the Bystander's defence, there are other things in life that are more important than blogging.

Although the good blogger may disagree.

WELL? DO YOU FEEL LUCKY, PUNK?
There's a new game for googler to play. Forget googlewhacking, try "Do you feel lucky?" Here's the trick: type a single word into the Google search engine and instead of selecting "Google search," try the "I'm feeling lucky" instead.

As of writing, typing in the word "failure" and then "I'm feeling lucky" takes you straight to the George W. Bush home page! Oh the humanity! Wonder how long this state of affairs will last, eh?

Like most bloggers - egocentric and self-important - I typed in "thenakedbystander" (again, all one word) and found myself at a page listing lots of other "naked" sites. Included in this veritable pantheon of sites are "naked man rambling," "The Naked Geek," "The Naked Flasher," "fat naked women," "naked men pics," "my naked wife and I," and the oh so descriptive "Really hot naked girls."

And although "Naked Skiing" is also there, sadly there is only one entry - "Here it starts. Talking about nakedness." That's it. In line with my previous "There's an awful lot of blogging crap out there" article.

LET'S GET THIS EXPLAINED LICKETY SPLIT
New Orleans mayor, Ray Nagin, has taken to using the phrase lickety quick on a number of occasions. On September 1st, he said that we authorized $8 billion to go to Iraq lickety-quick; he also said we gave the president unprecedented powers lickety-quick; and in an interview with radio commentator, Glenn Beck, he used the phrase in three consecutive sentences.

What caught my attention was that in the radio interview, he actually started each time by saying "lickety sp..." and then correcting himself to say "lickety quick." As Freud says, "betrayal oozes from every pore," and in this case, Nagin was clearly trying to avoid saying "lickety split." But why?

The phrase lickety split appears to have been around for over 150 years, quoted in Bartlett's 1859 Dictionary of Americanisms as meaning "very fast, headlong." Other variations such as lickety click and lickety cut have also been heard.

But lickety quick? This seems to be a new coinage, a hapax legomenon squeezed reluctantly from the mouth of mayor Nagin.

Now, the reason people self-censor is because they are aware that the word, or words, being used are likely to cause offence to someone. Ergo, Nagin is privy to a meaning of lickety split that can be offensive. What could this be?

At times like this, it's always a good idea to check out the Urban Dictionary, a treasure trove of information about current slang and word usage. If you've ever wondered why Kellis' milkshake "brings all the boys to the yard" or why you might want to avoid offering to help "toss the salad" at your friends barbecue, Urbandictionary is the place to get an education.

Within a few clicks, I found the answer to Nagin's Freudian issues: lickety-split: to administer cunnilingus. Usage: I gave her lickety-split.

The answer appears. Mayor Nagin has not only had to deal with getting help for the greatest natural disaster ever to hit the USA, but avoid making references to oral sex that might shock some little old lady in Maine. Especially those who read the Urban Dictionary.

Mystery solved. Lickety split.

WHERE DID THE TIME GO?
In truth, I'm time traveling. Not in the "mad-scientist-meets-dinosaur" way or "Ashton-Kutcher-has-brain-damage" fashion, but in a "I-can-fix-the-blog-post- date-to-whatever-I-like" manner. Sensing the need to spend a few minutes updating the Bystander, I discovered that my last posting was on 17th August - and today is 7th September.

What happened to the time? Although it's only some three weeks since the last epistle, a hurricane has devastated a city and the gas prices have gone up around 50 cents. If I waited another three weeks, I might see California become an island, North Korea nuke Seattle, and Dr. Phil canonized.

So I'm cheating. This post says August, but it's not. Which raises the question as to how honest bloggers are in general. If I can shift time, so can others. And if time can be shifted, so can truths. How many folks have "predicted" something by exercising a temporal sleight of hand - or in this case keyboard?

Makes you think, eh?

HOW TO HANDLE NORTH KOREA: SEND IN THE STYLISTS
Watching the action movie, Stealth, its impossible not to notice that the film-makers' quest for accuracy includes the almost uncannily perfect portrayal of North Korean style. When Jessica Biel crashes only twelve miles north of the South Korean border, it is apparent that her figure-hugging pants, complete with tight bondage straps, and sexy crop top put to shame the shapeless, baggy outfits worn by the local women. Even with a gimpy leg and blood on her face, Ms. Biel manages to make aviator fatigues look like the sort of thing you'd want your lap dancer to grind against you.

Enter the Bad Guy, complete with the worst pudding-basin haircut you could ever imagine. It's a well know fact that Kim Jong Il's hairstyle has all the appeal of an exploded mattress and clearly hasn't seen a comb since Vidal Sassoon closed his Pyonyang salon. In contrast, Bad Guy had his entire head shaved except for a black circle right on top, looking for all the world like a licorice pancake.

The rest of the North Korean army had the sense to wear hats, thus hiding whatever god-awful cuts existed beneath. The green fatigues are presumably standard, but would a little color not help? Seriously, dudes, just wearing the hats at a jaunty angle might indicate a little nonconformity.

So here's the plan: Under cover of darkness, a crack team of stylists parachutes in somewhere 20 miles outside Pyongyang, armed with a small arsenal of scissors, clippers, make-up, and hair product. With nothing more technologically sophisticated that a blow dryer, they open up a small salon and begin the transformation process, introducing the rural North Koreans to such things as foundation, conditioner, gel, pomade, pore cleanser, and combs.

Pretty soon, the elite squad open a second salon (property prices in North Korea are not exactly high) and move closer to the capital city. Eventually, as people begin to look better, they demand the right to stay looking good and the right to buy imported Paul Mitchell and Vidal Sassoon.

The coup de grace is when Stacy and Clinton from TLC's What Not To Wear crash one of Kim Jong Il's nuclear strategy meetings and offer him a $5000 Visa card with a trip to New York for shopping. We can consolidate the victory by having the Queer Eye guys do a follow-up one year later.

GQ Guy - changing the world one outfit at a time.

FEMININE HYGIENE PRODUCTS FOR MEN
Greater love hath no man for his daughter than to go shopping on her behalf for feminine hygiene products. Armed with nothing more than the instructions "it burns" and "pain," off he dutifully goes in search of a cure.

So here's question number one for all you ladies out there: Is 8:00 a.m. the usual time for you all to go en masse to buy feminine products? Why is the entire pharmaceutical section of Wal-Mart empty except for the area with products my mother never told me about? It's stressful enough trying to both research and buy such products at the same time, but when you're shoulder to shoulder with moms, girls, housewives, mistresses, and female wrestlers, you can't help wonder at what is going through their minds with each glance they give you. In reality, it's pretty likely that they are thinking things like "I wonder if there's anything off eggs this morning?" or "Did Ralph remember to book the car in for a service?" or even "Oh, last time I tried this one I ended up with a purple rash for a week."

Shopping tip for guys in the same predicament: If you need them, always make sure you have your glasses with you. There's nothing more guaranteed to make you even more conspicuous than to have to stand in a group of women holding boxes of "VagiMagic" at arm's length so you can read the instructions. Might as well wear a huge yellow foam arrow on your head and a T-shirt with "Look at me, I'm the weird guy buying women's stuff."

Question number two for all the marketeers: Is it possible to make a feminine product that doesn't have some variation of the word vagina in the title? Truth in advertising is all well and good, but we don't sell AssCreme, DickBeClean, Knob Polish, or I-Can't-Believe-My-Butt-Isn't-Itching-Any-More. Yet everything on the feminine hygiene shelf seems to be called Vagicream, Vagisil, Vagiwipes, Vagisoft, or some other Vagi-prefixed label. Two rows away are the men's intimate products, but not one has the word condom or tallywhacker overcoat in the product name, just Trojan, Trustex, Rough Rider, or Durex.

On to the check-out. With a fistful of Vagi-stuff, guys have to look around frantically for something masculine to add to the mix, otherwise it looks just plain weird. Sadly, Wal-Mart doesn't stock copies of Big Boobies, Schoolgirl Sluts, or Maxim, so the option to assert your primal sexuality by picking up a magazine is somewhat limited. However, good news is that you can pick up a Remington Bolt Action 700 CDL 7MM-08, a Ruger Red Label 20/28 Straight Grip, and copies of Guns and Ammo, Soldier of Fortune, and Branch Davidian Compounds for Dummies.

Let's hope our daughters appreciate all we do for them.

THERE'S AN AWFUL LOT OF BLOGGING CRAP OUT HERE
For those of us who are egotistical, self-serving, narcissists - or Bloggers - there's nothing like the almost masturbatory pleasure of reading ones work posted for all to see. Safe in our assumption that millions of people the world over are eagerly awaiting our next morsel of wit and wisdom, we continue to spew out seemingly endless amounts of text for no reason other than to massage our own inflated egos.

Yet a more exciting thrill is available if you choose to not only read your own blog, but click on the little button to the top right of the screen that says "NEXT BLOG." Although to many of us there is no need to read anyone else's blog because ours is so good, a brief digression into the souls of others can be very instructive. Not least because there is some god-damn awful rubbish out there that brings a whole new meaning to the concept of "self-absorbed."

Some people are content to simply write the first thing that comes into their head, regardless of whether there is any point to it or not. Some go down the misguided route of trying to appear "creative" by rejecting all artificially imposed boundaries of form and style - in other words, they can't write. Others apparently fall asleep at the keyboard and get no further than a few words, some of which are in the English language.

Then there are some who, flushed with the initial success of posting the immortal words "Welcome to my new Blog, I hope you enjoy all my postings to come," promptly disappear from the blogging universe and fail to post ever again.

And as for those folks who seem to think they are God's gift to prose - spare us all! Here's a not-untypical example from the "Whispers" blog (oh go ahead, click here for the full experience.)

"Screams- screams were closing in from all directions, silence- no where to be found. He wanted to close his ears- wanted to shut his eyes- wanted to embrace what had arrived- wanted to… He wanted to think; think once in his life. He had spent all these years without thinking about anything. It was as if he had lost his ability to think- to wonder."

And also his ability to write. This blog is special in that it allows you to use the words turgid, pretentious, vapid, and torpid all in one sentence. Douglas Adams' fans might be reminded of Vogon poetry, which may turn out to be more palatable.

Of course, some blogs are good. And those that are a typically not actually about someone but about stuff. If you want to rate a blog objectively, one measure you can use is the Ego Index, which you obtain by dividing the number of times the words I, me, mine, and my appear by the total number of words in the blog. For example, in the single sentence I think I ought to talk about other things than myself, there are 11 words, of which three are first-person pronouns. Therefore, the Ego Index for this sentence is 0.27.

What's the betting that there is a inverse correlation between how good a blog is and its ego Index? Now there's a research project waiting to happen!

GEICO'S GECKO HAS STICKY FINGERS - ALL THE BETTER FOR GRASPING
Fool me once - shame on you. After watching the cute gecko on the Geico commercials, I was sucked into hitting the web site to see him doing the robot. I should have suspected something amiss when I discovered intially that there was no dancing gecko. Still, they did offer a great quote on my motorcycle insurance that appeared to be substantially less than Progressive's renewal amount.

So, I waited until my Progressive expired - on a Sunday - and applied for a $156-00 from the lizard. Big mistake. Big. Huge!

Seems that if you let your old policy lapse by a few hours, you lose any "discount" that Geico hints at. Progressive ran out at 12:01 a.m. and at 5:00 a.m., or thereabouts, I had signed up for Geico to kick in at 12:01 a.m. - less than 24 hours later.

Alas, my reward for switching was (a) thanks for the $156 - we've taken that off you faster than a gecko can catch flies, and (b) now send us another $16 because you don't get a discount. The "savings" on Progressive suddenly became not so big a deal. Did anyone say "bait-and-switch?" How about "sharp practice?"

Seems that the sticky-fingered gecko is so strapped for cash that it needs $16 so badly it will risk losing a new customer for it. Hard to believe, isn't it, that the friendly gecko turns out to be nothing more than yet another insurance reptile.

Clearly I'm not the first to find this out. A quick web search reveals that the domain name www.geicosucks.com is owned by - yup, Geico! Now there's a company so secure in its dealings that it has to register domain names that people might use as a protest. Geicosux.com appears to be on hold, as does geicoblows.com.

I have encouraged the nice people at Geico to read this blog, just so they can maybe try to understand that business is not just about new customers but also keeping old ones. Whenever someone now types geicosucks.com into a search engine, this blog will respond to the call and folks will see it. Rest assured I'll be making sure that everyone I know gets to hear about Geico's shabby treatment. I know they can waive the $16 if they want and for them to pretend otherwise is churlish, mean-spirited, and not a little disingenuous. To insist on my forking out the $16 is indicative of an attitude - and we can guess what that attitude is.

Fool me once - shame on you: Fool me twice - shame on me. And I'm not going to be a fool again.

MOVE OVER MCDOUGALL - THE MCDONALD'S DIET IS HERE
Morgan Spurlock's movie, Super Size Me, caused something of a mini-sensation when it was released in 2004. In the film, Spurlock revealed that by following a diet of only items available at McDonald's and accepting the super-sized portion if it was offered, he added 25 lbs in 30 days and saw his blood cholesterol go through the proverbial roof. Of course, any rational person would not be surprised by this and to hold Micky D's accountable for the bizarre behavior of stupid fat people is simply crass. Maybe his next movie will see him eating exclusively at Cinnabon and Ben & Jerry's - anyone want to make a guess as to what might happen to his weight?

Well surprise, surprise! Merab Morgan, of Henderson, North Carolina, has taken up the gauntlet against Spurlock and switched to her own "Mc Donald's Diet." Setting a daily target of no more than 1400 calories, Morgan, who has failed at both the Atkin's Diet and Weight Watchers, lost 33 lbs over 67 days while eating nothing but McDonald's food. The trick is to watch those calories and set yourself a target; in Morgan's case, she hopes to lose 40-60 lbs in total.

This is undoubtably great news for junk food junkies, who have been under pressure lately from the Food Nazis who seem to believe that (a) they have the "right formula" for proper nutrition and (b) everyone else should follow it. The "right diet" seems to exclude foods that are tasty in exchange for those that are tasteless, fibrous, and typically eaten by rabbits. And no matter how many times a vegetarian says, "But tofu can taste just like meat," the fact remains that tofu has all the flavor of eight-week-old chewing gum and all the texture of a balloon.

If God had wanted human beings not to eat at McDonald's, he would have created mankind not in his image but in the image of a rabbit. No, God handed out canine teeth for the tearing of flesh, and a long intestinal tract to process animal proteins. Why, on this basis, avoiding meat is almost inhuman!

Undoubtably nutritionist killjoys will be tossing out lists of why the McDonald's diet will not work, but until then, tuck into that Big Mac before the Food Nazis deprive you of yet another small nutritional pleasure.

"Dah dap dap dat daaaaaa .... I'm loving it!"

US LITERACY LEVEL DECLINING
Late last night, I developed an urge for a nice piece of cheddar. I knew there was some in an unopened packet in the refrigerator. So I took it out and tore open the resealable bag.

What caught my eye was some writing on the packaging: "America spell cheese K*R*A*F*T" Mmmh, I don't think so. I believe America spells cheese "c*h*e*e*s*e," otherwise, the label would have read "America spells kraft K*R*A*F*T."

This sort of mistake is up there with the creeping mispronunciation of words that have a clear, unambiguous spelling. Take the word "caramel" as an example. It has a no-brainer of a structure - three syllables "ca," "ra," and "mel." Yet why do some folks insist on saying "carmel?" Fine if we're talking about the northern California town where Clint Eastwood made everyone's day by serving as mayor for a short time; but if you're in Starbucks asking for a syrup shot, it's "ca-ra-mel," stupid.

And let's not even go there with George W.'s "nookyooluh" pronunciation. I mean, look at the word: "nuclear." What's the problem? It has two bits - "nu" as in "nu," and "clear" as in "clear." I suppose it's at least support for the "No Child Left Behind" idea because as far as learning the Enlgish language is concerned, W was obviously left behind.

Pedantic, moi? heaven forbid.

POPE READY TO GO BACK TO BOOK BURNING?
It seems like the new Pope Benedict XVI isn't going to be lining up to buy a first copy of the imminent Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Nor is he likely to be attending the release of the next Harry Potter movie dressed as a wizard (you know the look - long robes, pointy hat, big stick. Oh wait, maybe he will!)

German writer, Gabriele Kuby, has written a book entitled Harry Potter: Good or Bad, in which she refers to comments from a certain Cardinal Joseph Alois Ratzinger made in 2003. At that time, the nascent Pope Benedict said, "It is good that you explain the facts of Harry Potter, because this is a subtle seduction, which has deeply unnoticed and direct effects in undermining the soul of Christianity before it can really grow properly."

So there you have it: Benny says "No" to Harry. Of course, he'd be very happy if kids all over the world were to be eagerly awaiting the next reprint of the Bible, which contains more sex, violence, wickedry, and debauchery than any Harry Potter novel. And what's more shocking is that Benny would claim that unlike Potter novels, the Bible is true. In which case, maybe it should be added to the Vatican's list of unapproved books.

Strangely enough, in Germany, the author who knocked the previous Potter book from the number one spot was one written by Benny himself - hyped up as a result of his becoming Pope. There were no reports of thousands of children dressed as Popes spending all evening waiting for a midnight release. Shame.

Another book that has apparently raised the Vatican's collective gorge is the popular The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, a novel castigated by Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone as being full of ''gross lies and manipulations." Well pardon me for sounding stupid, but the fact that the book is billed and sold as a novel should be something of a giveaway here. Novels are supposed to be full of lies and manipulations, otherwise they're called "non-fiction histories."

The real danger in a Harry Potter book seems to be the damage it could cause to your head if it was dropped from a height. Pound for pound, the Potter hardbacks have always been value for money. And once you've read it, you can always use it as a doorstop.

As for claims of encouraging witchcraft and devil worship, methinks that some folks really need to move on from the Middle Ages and get a grip.

IT'S OFFICIAL - THE TERRORISTS HAVE WON; OR AT LEAST BEATEN SNOOP DOGG
As the plucky Brits were getting out of their beds on Friday morning, then hopping on the buses as usual in order to get to work, Snoop Doggy Dogg was doing his bit to fight the war on terror: he cancelled his up-coming concert in Manchester, UK. Clearly Snoop is having delusions of grandeur, imagining that he is the sort of high collateral target that fanatical terrorists would be after.

And as the leaders of the G8 nations continue to meet in Edinburgh, terrorists are obviously more intent on grabbing Snoop and holding him for ransom. Why, if such a thing was to happen, George W. would have no choice but to accede to any demands rather than see such an important and key political figure be harmed. Since his phenomenally successful political dissection of world sexual politics in Girls Gone Wild: Doggy Style, Snoop's value to hostage takers has evidently increased.

Of course, Snoop may have the usual Ameri-centric view of geography that puts just about anywhere in England as being near London. The 300+ miles distance between London and Manchester prbably hasn't registered with this "soldier" of rap. And for all his bleating about how tough it is on the streets, how it's critical to have a "nine" in your pocket in case you need to "bust a cap on someone's ass," standing on a stage hundreds of miles from where a terror attack took place is much too risky.

Hey, it's one thing to talk about fighting for your rights, but when the going gets tough, Snoop gets out.

Meanwhile Londoners go back to work, stoic as ever, cocking a snook at any attempts to induce fear and terror. Maybe Al Qaeda would be better of concentrating on a few celebs - and maybe most people could offer them a list to choose from!

NASA'S $300 MILLION BLUNDER - PERHAPS
After the semi-success of the movie "Deep Impact," NASA felt compelled to provide the definitive 2005 remake in the form of their Deep Impact probe. Aimed at the poor, defenseless comet, Tempel 1, Deep Impact smacked into the heart of the wandering body only a few days ago, the purpose of which was either to gain invaluable knowledge about the composition of the universe or to practice interplanetary skeet shooting. The latter, of course, will prove invaluable in the event of an alien attack.

But tragedy was to strike. Not NASA, but Russian astrologer Marina Bai. Unable to predict that a probe was due to hit the comet, the destruction of the icy snowball was, astrologically speaking, a catastrophe of the first order. Apparently her entire future has been wiped out, and all bets are off for anyone who has received a personal reading from her.

According to Bai, "It is obvious that elements of the comet's orbit, and correspondingly the ephemeris, will change after the explosion, which interferes with my astrology work and distorts my horoscope." Pity that the event in itself wasn't so obvious to so skilled an astrologer.

Based on calculations of lost earnings, she is suing NASA for $300 million dollars. Clearly she's currently charging around $50,000 per horoscope, although considering her inability to predict the cometary demise, you have to think some of her clients might want their money back.

Perhaps her next horoscope will tell her whether she's likely to win the case. Or maybe NASA are now planning to scupper her chances of successfully suing by sending Deep Impact II straight for Mars - that should mess up her charts even more.

MORE FINGER-LICKIN' OFFERINGS - THIS TIME FROM APPLEBEES
Hot (or more accurately cold) on the trail of the finger-enhanced bowl of chili from Wendy's, a woman in New Orleans is suing Applebees restaurant for allegedly serving her a salad with a deceased digit plopped on top. As with the Wendy's case, no-one has yet stepped - or screamed - forward to claim their finger back.

May Deal Chambers Johnson is claiming that she suffered physical and psychological harm after finding the offending body part in a take-out salad. The lawsuit includes the accusation that Applebees failed "to prevent the inclusion of a human fingertip in a salad to go."

Now call me stupid, but how on earth can a finger "accidentally" drop into a salad? Do Applebees have a policy of employing lepers? ("Sorry, Boss, I didn't realize it was missing.") Or maybe Hannibal Lecter has recently been employed as a sous-chef. Whatever the reason, you have to think that it is relatively difficult to (a) pop body parts into take-away food and (b) find a spare body part that no-one is missing ("Hey, I just noticed - my weener's been missing for a couple of weeks. Anyone seen it around?")

Coming so soon after the Wendy's episode, you have to think that if this woman is trying to pull some sort of scam - and we can suspend judgment for a couple of weeks at least - then this has to be one of the most untimely scams ever. There's also the whole notion of why anyone should get any money for "distress" because of a finger tip. Granted it may be a little gross, but she's not dead, dying, huddled in a ball and screaming, or starving to death. Looking at the TV news clip recently, she appears to have been able to go out and get her hair done and able to smile for the cameras.

Still, for those of you who have said "I'd give my right arm for a million bucks," all you need do is toss the said appendage into some fast-food value meal and your wish just might come true.