Yeah, I see Victoria Osteen as a lady wrestler on a plane, inflicting bodily harm to a flight attendant.
Can anyone think of a six-letter word, beginning with an "L" and ending in "yer?"
And if you think U.S. society is falling over the brink, this political comeback by Paris Hilton should restore your faith in our way of life.
Beam me up Scotty.
Rick Springfield.
Here is the way it played out on TV you should be recording every day like Gospel.
This storm is obviously personally intended for me.
I'm sorry if anyone else becomes inconvenienced.
I intend to stand on the roof, braced against the wind, like Lt. Dan in "Forrest Gump," railing against God.
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
Or maybe just cower with my dog in an interior closet with half supply of dingo bones and cheetos.
This is ruining a very important seminar I was supposed to attend tomorrow.
And what about dog pee and poop? How am I supposed to sweet talk myself out of that?
Electrifying. No power. No SoapNetZone. And oh my God, NO "GENERAL HOSPITAL!"
Here's a funny thing about preparing for a storm. They say, load up your fridge at coldest temperature and don't open the door.
What a brilliant idea.
Of course I have marshaled plenty of microwave meals to survive the aftermath. Anyone sense a lapse of logic in this formula?
I don't have time for such a lovely interlude.
I have a very important class tomorrow that starts promptly at eight o'clock!
What part of that did you not understand, Mr. Poseidon?
Sick at heart about Christina Applegate's cancer.
I don't want that kid to die.
I contribute what I can to various cancer charities. Who knows if that makes any difference.
Then I think, "Mark, you are smart. Solve this yourself."
But it is so hard. This article
only skims the surface. The real problem with cancer cells, in my very un-educated opinion, is how they mercilessly reproduce, after a normal cell's life is over. It goes down to fundamental atom relationships.
I wish I were smart enough to figure out how to stop certain cells from "forgetting' they should die. But I am not.
Let's support those who can. Meanwhile, take a breath.
they say she will make a full recovery.
What a sweet kid. She's only thirty-six years old.
And while I have not followed her career closely, I've respected her from a distance. She has been one of those "under-the-radar" beauties for me, as hard to believe as that might sound.
But I've been aware of her for a long time, sideways glimpsing, year after year, in this or that story, how she has survived growing up in the Bundy household, matured through a relentless Hollywood child-killing machine, into a lovely young woman.
Then comes a shocking day.
Regular MRI... doctor walks in.... "sorry to tell you this Miss, but you have breast cancer."
One month after her 26 year-old boyfriend died from a heroin overdose.
Dear Christina,
I don't know you honey. Just a quiet admirer. I like you for your looks, your humor, Bundy laughs, and survival through the Hollywood jungle to become a huge success in what you have chosen to do.
You have been a "fight against cancer" advocate long before discovering the terrifying truth it festers in your body as well.
I wish I were smart enough to cure it. But I'm not.
Have faith that this is not life-threatening. First prognosis sounds hopeful, but what a shock.
We all dance around the prairie, don't we? Hoping to avoid the meteor strike.
Please don't let her die.
Politics on a fun blog can get one in trouble, but my God people, all I ask is for the press and yourself to take five minutes and think about the realities of this world, how a free market economy works, what limits government should have over every aspect of your supposedly free life, and whether or not you deserve to keep more than half of your income.
That's all I ask.
I guess it does not matter if the majority of our nation have willingly turned into star-struck sheep.
We now return you to the three monkeys:
I don't know how she does it with that sickening, Valley-girl, voice.
Ratings through the roof.
Link behind the pic shows you how many characters volley for air time.
Maxie's monologues - stuff of future legend.
And not as extemporaneous as it sounds, although Soap Operas resort to ad-lib frequently.
Both Kirsten Storms (Maxie) and Bradford Anderson (Spinelli) have amazing memories. They hardly ever stare at a cue card.
Plus, Maxie is ten times sexier than Lulu can ever hope to be, and don't think Johnnie doesn't know it.
This new girl, piano student, Lourdes, is complicating matters, because she's on to the hit & run couple.
Go Maxie.
Ignore Spinelli's hurt feelings. Everyone on this show is the "great friend" to the love of their life.
When he finds someone else (Leyla), a primal scream will not prove pretty from polished lips.
"Hey, wait!"
That's what everyone says when it's too late.
As one young lady, hoping to make it out of Siberia one day on her brains and bra through http://meet-russian-women.com, said:
"I didn't even realise there was an eclipse," said the receptionist at a local hotel. "It just goes to show what happens if you live up here - you don't find out about anything until it's too late."
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