RoL2.2: Peepshow, creepshow

It's the morning after the first elimination at the Whore House and the only sounds to be heard are snoring, gurgling and some unidentified sucking sounds. And there's Courtney, who you may remember as the girl who got drunk off her ass last week and missed elimination.

When Peyton informs her that her tour has ended, Courtney actually can't believe it and says, "Ooh, that sucks. I'm going home because I'm a dumbass." No, it's probably because you're fat and ugly and some girl with Botox was wearing the same outfit as you! As she dejectedly drags her suitcase down the stairs someone shouts, "Stay off the sauce!" Poor Courtney, but now it's time for her therapist to deal with it.

Meanwhile, as the other hoes are spackling on makeup and flatironing their bleach-scorched locks, a bomb is dropped. Sara reveals she came on the show as a dare and she lied to her parents and said she was just going to visit friends in LA. Inna the fat stripper is practically drooling with this little tidbit. Her strategy is to tell blabbermouth Alexis Arquette who immediately runs to Bret. Bret is tossing a football with Security Goon Big John and AA is all, "Let me try!" then throws it over the fence. As Security Goon Big John runs to fetch it, AA tattles on Sarah. Bret seems to be thinking like real media whore now because he instantly assumes this is some kind of weird strategy.

So the skanks get a note about their next challenge, and it's a talent show. I have to say at this moment that Angelique/Frenchie has got to be the most horrifying creature I have ever seen. She is the very definition of someone who has been rode hard and put away wet—an unfortunate-looking chick who lets guys put their dicks anywhere they want to get attention. I can't help but feel a little bit bad for her because she has "HELP ME" written all over her giant fake boobs. But then again, I don't want to get too close. Crabs are contagious.

Anyway, the bitches prance around the house preparing their "talents." Destiney works on some kung fu routine. Niki writes a poem in the big bubble letters of a fifth grader. Frenchie says this (according to the subtitles): "I'm going to show heem I can get nekkid un be sexy but I can alzo be a, like, good, you know houzewife." She's in the kitchen wearing a hot pink bandeau top and making something chocolate. I think you can see where this is going.

It's time for the talent show! But in true RoL fashion, the twist is that the skanks have to perform their routines in a Peep Show booth for 30 seconds. If Bret likes what he sees, he inserts a coin for the curtain to raise again and the performance can continue for 15 more seconds. The sign in front of the booth says LIVE SHOWS: CLASSY GIRLS, which is the most blatant example of false advertising I've seen in a while.

The first performer is Alexis Arquette, who plays the drums and totally sucks. Destiney does her Hong Kong Phooey routine and, naturally, it turns Bret on. Niki and Katherine both read horrible poems. Megan does a magic trick where she puts red, white and blue thongs in a bag and—tada!—pulls out an American flag! Bret says something about how the flag can make him stand at attention and Roxy says, "Thongs in a bag? Way to think outside the box, Megan." Korie appears in the booth with an easel and you think she's going to draw, but she turns the pad around to reveal the words MERRY ME. Jesus. Bret notes the misspelling and says its "not good." At least the man appreciates literacy. To a certain extent.

Then we have Kristy Joe, the Playboy model. She irons. Seriously. And says he needs someone who can take care of him. Of course, this also turns Bret on. Eleanor Roosevelt spins in her grave as Bret puts in another coin and as a reward, KJ rips her top off. Don't forget: this peep show only features classy girls, so she goes back to her ironing in her bra and panties. Frenchie screams "stop ironing and start streeping!"

There are a couple other stupid excuses for "talents", including tying a cherry stem in a knot with the tongue, belly dancing, singing in skanky outfits and giftwrapping. Peyton plays guitar and sings and is actually quite good and I decide that I like her now. Then Frenchie takes to the stage. She tears her clothes off and desperately pushes her boobs against the window. And then the chocolate dessert she claims to have worked all day on comes into play, put VH1 kindly censors the scene. We can only imagine what went on under that black bar, but Bret calls it "spiritual."

The winners of the challenge, based on talent and sexiness (of course), are Peyton, Daisy and Ambre. It's been a busy day, but Bret commands the girls to stay up because he's ready to party. However, the VIPs are tired and crawl into bed for the night, which seriously pisses Bret off, and he interviews that Bret's book of rock n' roll rules is that you never go to bed early. The girls who stayed up are treated to an acoustic rendition of "Every Rose" and they all stare at him twirling their hair and fluttering their eyelashes like he's young Elvis or something. Bret says as penance, he's forcing everyone to participate in a dance contest the next evening.

The next day, Bret takes the talent show winners on their date and even though their note references "all-terrain" the girls still can't figure out what they are doing until they are standing right in front of a trio of ATVs. Daisy gets confused about how to operate the vehicle and says, "I'm focusing 'cause I don't want to like, die, or like, lose a leg 'cause that would be, like, bad." The gang does a few laps on a dirt trail and eats lunch and then Bret pulls Ambre aside for some alone time. She rambles on and on and then they make out and Bret says of her kissing style, "I got movement, heavy, heavy movement" whatever that means and he must seriously have a thing for Jenilee Harrison because Ambre looks JUST LIKE HER. Also, Daisy has dirt on her face that makes her look like she has a Hitler moustache and no one tells her.

Meanwhile, back at Skank Mansion the VIPs feel bad that Bret is mad at them so they deside to make him a card with Sharpies and glitter. They complete their art project, put on their sluttiest outfits and go downstairs and wait by the door for Bret to come home. Jessica then makes the understatement of the show: "We are the most amazing trio. Of brains." Einstein couldn't have said it better.

Inna and Frenchie don't agree that these three are the smartest, bestest ever, so they put together a stage for the evening's dance-off then put on bras, panties and stripper shoes and move chairs right in front of the door, in front of the VIPs. Destiney expresses annoyance that "they're copying us!" and guesses "some people can't come up with their own ideas" and suddenly I feel like I'm in the seventh grade locker room at my old junior high. When Bret comes through the door, Frenchie immediately sticks her butt out at him and voiceovers "I'm dressed super-sexy like a streeper, like a slut" and I wonder at what age daddy started touching her because that girl's got serious problems.

The others come downstairs and the dance-off gets underway. Destiney is wearing a bra, panties with hose underneath and a belt. It's pretty stupid overall—to give you an idea of the level of competion, Megan walks backwards screetching "WHOOOOO!" and it's supposed to be the moonwalk. The winners are Roxy (funky chicken), Daisy (pony) and Destiney (running man) and the girls get VIP passes that they can "use any time", meaning if Bret is talking to someone they can interrupt and pull him away. Wow, that was worth it.

Mercifully, it's elimintion time and Inna shows up with zinc smeared all over her lips. Bret arrives with Security Goon Big John and announces that he has a concern and asks Sara to explain all this dare business. Sara sputters that she was taken out of context and Inna starts calling her out. Bret tells Sara she's done and Sara calls Inna a "big fucking whale" in an interview. I know I called her a fat stripper earlier, but I'm starting to get more of a GLOW wrestling vibe from Inna. She also seems to think she's the new Hatchet Face.

So Niki and her stupid poems and Korie and her bad spelling are also out, but Frenchie is in and she's so excited that she crams her tongue down Bret's throat and Bret says it's "large and fighting to get in my mouth, like a serpent" and then makes it even grosser by saying her tongue "made it into my belly and tasted last night's supper." Oh my god. What new disease was just created in that culture? Cathouse Fever? Sunset Strip Staph Infection? Club Floor Fungus? Stripper Pox?

Last night's supper just came up at the thought...

Nexxxt week: It's the return of Hatchet Face!

PS On a side note, every time I see the commercial for that movie where Jessica Alba is blind, her outfit and acting reminds me of the scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie imagines going blind after being made to put Lifebuoy soap in his mouth. I mean, she's wearing the exact same outfit and she's practically feeling her way around like she's about to whack a pinata.

RoL2.1: Give us somethin' to believe in

All the sad reality dating show break-ups we've been hearing about makes it very hard to believe in love, doesn't it? Really makes you lose your faith. More than ever, we need somethin' to believe in.

And that somethin' is Bret Michaels.

Kids, Rock of Love is back! And better than ever? Don't know about that, especially when Bret refers to his "bitch goddess rock n' roll"...again. This isn't a good sign. Are we destined for a word-for-word repeat of last season, followed by a Jes-esque freakout on the reunion special? We shall see...

In the meantime, there's Security Goon Big John! How I missed Security Goon Big John! He's preparing the petri dish for the impending syringe squirt of microbes. He carts in a load of beer in a wheelbarrow and actually tests out the stripper pole...for what? Stability? I'm thinking there are far more destructive elements hanging around that pole that can't be seen by the human eye, Security Goon Big John. But you get a gold star for effort anyway. Lord knows you deserve it.

Next we see the man of the hour, Bret, cruising down the street in a red Penis Compensation Vehicle, wearing his Penis Compensation Burberry Sunglasses. He pulls up in front of the house to greet the screeching hoarde of skanks. The first three quotes we hear from the girls are as follows:
1. “I am drawn to Bret like a nun to a convent.”
2. “I wanna fuck Bret first, and then I’ll make love to him.”
3. “I am bisexual. I love making out with hot, sexy women. If I’m not getting it from Bret, then I’m gonna go find some hot girl to make out with."

Yikes. That's the perfect introduction to the likes we're going to be dealing with in the Whore House this season. Among the trash heap are:
• Missi, who has bad teeth and, it appears, a touch of FAS
• Megan, who I'm told was a winner on Beauty and the Geek, which makes her a ho in more ways than one
• Something called "Peyton," that might have spawned from Jocelyn Wildenstein
• Ambre (yes, I spelled that right), who is a dead ringer for Jenilee Harrison
• Catherine, who for some reason reminds me of Naomi on Mama's Family and has a hairdo like this chick who's worked at the Drug Mart in my hometown for the last, like, 20 years
• Aubry (yes, I spelled that right, too), who seems to think that the key to Bret's heart is looking just like him
• Alexis Arquette! What's he doing there? Oh, sorry...that's just Daisy. Too bad she couldn't get all the post-op done before coming on the show.
• Angelique, aka "Frenchie", who DID get the post-op done before coming on the show.

We also have chicks named Inna, Destiney (the aforementioned bisexual chick), Jackye, Roxy, and Kristy Joe. How many juice bars are losing their Wednesday night main stagers because of this show?

My first impression is that I've never seen so much bad hair in my life. These aren't even weaves. It's like they all slathered a handful of LA Looks into wet hair, crimped and then knotted it all up with a multitude of sparkly Goody Ouchless hair accessories. To everyone's horror, Bret immediately chooses four girls out of the crowd and then disappears. Just when you think these are the poor saps that are getting sent home for not being blonde enough (like last season), Security Goon Big John announces that these four are the "VIPs" and they all get private time with Bret later. WHOOOOOOOO!!!!

But first up, PAAARRTTYYYY!! Booze is flying through the air, as are boobs, and Frenchie L'Homme announces, "I vant to have some sex wis Bret in zis pool!" Bret takes porno pics of the girls as a way to "connect" with their boobs, I mean them, again. We are treated to splits, girl-on-girl makeouts and lapdances aplenty.

Next Bret meets each of the VIPs for some alone time by the pool and the overwhelming atmosphere is best described as creepy. Megan, wearing the shortest skirt ever, says, "I love Bret Michaels! Me n' him forever!" Destiney gives Bret a bedazzled bandanna she made and cackles maniacally, causing Bret to question whether she will "make love to me or kill me." Daisy is just completely horrifying-looking and I don't want to talk about it. The final VIP, Erin, tells Bret that MySpace changed her life. I mean, she actually says, "Like, there’s so many things going on in the world and a lot of them I’ve learned about through MySpace, like."

Jesus. We are really in for it this season.

The rest of the tramps have one hour to fellowship with Bret before eliminiation. Catherine reveals that she's 45, which means that she'll be kept on for a couple eps to prove Bret isn't ageist and then kicked out on her old, wrinkled ass. Next, a thick stripper perches on Bret's lap, pushes her breasts in his face and says "My father was never there and I just want someone to love me." Holy fuck.

Next we meet Kristy Joe, who is an interesting character, as she is a Playboy Bunny with a crippling fear of germs. She actually wipes Bret's mouth off like a parent wiping pureed carrots off an infant. She has a total stick up her ass, which I'm sure is a big turn-on to Bret. Oh, also, she likes horses.

And then there's Courtney, who is stumbling around the pool, five sheets to the wind. She's one of those dreaded crying drunks and keeps saying things like, "I'm fat and ugly and some girl with Botox is wearing the same thing I am!", "I'm the fattest girl here!", "Everyone else is prettier than me!" Thankfully, she passes out in a stupor on a leopard-print couch, oblivious to Security Goon Big John's commands to wake up because it's eliminiation time.

Ah, the eliminiation ceremony. The place where dreams are made and egos are crushed. And this, the first of the season, is the harshest of all, as Bret must send five fillies home. Courtney loses by default. She doesn't even show up and we are shown why—she's passed out on her bed and rolls off onto the floor with a flat thud. Bret requests that when she comes to someone should tell her that "her tour ends here."

Pretty much all the blondes make it through the first round and all the VIPs except for the one that learned about life through MySpace. The bug-eyed FAS chick is also out and asks the camera if "Nikki Sixx is available." The last girl called is Jackye, an Italian whose face is smooshed up in a way that makes her look like she is constantly smelling shit. But—SURPRISE!—Jackye tells Bret that she doesn't really want to stay because she's got anxiety issues. In her place, Bret asks Ambre/Jenilee to stay, which makes her so happy she starts drooling.

So we're off and running! This season: bras, roller derbies, pigs, mud football, cowboy hats, crying, weird lips, dirt bikes, chick fights, gang-ups, poker, slapping, puking, loads of stripping and skankiality, and cameos from Rodeo, ASHeather and HATCHET FACE! I believe, Bret, I believe!

Astonishing panorama of the end times

The holidays are over, but in celebration of today's post, I've included a picture of Krampus. Just because it seemed fitting.

So I mentioned a while back that I sometimes listen to this conspiracy kook podcast called Peering Into Darkness. I do this purely for shits and giggles. The podcast is hosted by this intensely creepy couple named Derek and Sharon Gilbert, who somehow manage to function enough through their smothering paranoia to be both published authors and legitimate radio show hosts. In their spare time, they produce this little show from their home (or, as they refer to it, "The Bunker").

The topics of the day are those typical conspiracy tidbits—everything, no matter how small, means something. Favorite topics include prophecy, high-level government conspiracies, the apocalypse, the number 33, and "suspicious gas." Did you know the little white lines of smoke you see following jets in the sky are actually trails of chemicals that are slowly poisoning us into submission? Did you know that a gargoyle in the shape of Darth Vader sits on a wall of the Washington National Cathedral? (And do you know what that is supposed to suggest? Because I don't.) And most importantly, did you know that the U.S. government has placed brainwashed killbots all around the country who are poised and ready to blow our heads off on command?

Matthew Murray, Seung-Hui Cho and Robert Hawkins are just some recent examples of people Der and Shar postulate are "cult multiples," meaning they were kidnapped by the feds, made into Manchurian Candidates and then released back into the wild. Their subsequent shooting rampages were triggered by the push of a button to divert attention from larger, more nefarious goings-on in the world.

Every time some kind of violent tragedy hits the news, you can bet these two are on it. They just love to smugly announce how they're not surprised and how everyone is going to be sorry they weren't paying attention and how the Bilderberg Group is behind it and how cancer researchers are actually trying to GIVE people cancer and how the weather is being controlled and how we're totally on course for the apocalypse. One wonders how they manage to make it through a day, let alone hold down regular jobs. With all that on your mind, how can you possibly function?

Here's a picture of Derek and Sharon, because I'm sure you're dying to know what they look like. What, pray tell, is wrong with this image? Doesn't it look totally fake? First of all, Sharon is obviously Photoshopped into the picture. Secondly, she's colorized! And is it just me or is that beard the work of MacPaint? This picture seems to suggest that Derek and Sharon are not even real, but IMAGINITIVE FIGMENTS created by the government to infiltrate and destroy the Christian right! Unfortunately, reality is not nearly that sexy, and neither are Der and Shar...

Not that I care that much, but I'm sort of morbidly curious about how these two managed to find each other. I mean, could you imagine the first date convo?
Sharon:So what do you like to do for fun?
Derek: Hide in my basement and record myself babbling endlessly about large-scale government conspiracies.
Sharon: ME TOO!!!!!!

Feeding the paranoia and adding some of the most hilarious/crazed commentary is frequent guest Russ Dizdar. Russ runs a "spiritual warfare" ministry and is a freelance exorcist. That's right—when the devil's spinning your head around and causing you to coat the room with green pea soup, who ya gonna call? Russ!

What I love about Russ is that he's obviously suffering from delusional disorder, but Derek and Sharon hang on his every word as if he were God himself. He thinks everyone is out to get him personally and there is an underlying subculture of people hell-bent on putting a stop to his good works. Check out his website for more evidence (but only if you're not epileptic because all that shit on his page is enough to cause a seizure)—yowza. If anything, he's definitely wordy.

The recent Halloween episode of Peering Into Darkness featured Russ as a guest and it's especially hilarious. We get to learn all about the simple magic satanists can perform to fuck shit up. See, objects can be "charged" with good or bad energy and when you touch something that's been fused with bad energy, then the "lucifarians" get stronger and you will probably become possessed. Or something.

Bottom line: it's fucking absurd. But it sure is fun to listen to! Among other awesomeness in the Halloween ep, we learn:
• Every once in a while Derek and Sharon get something in the mail that they don't expect which they automatically assume is a demonized object meant to make them sick, corrupt or confused.
• There's no question that rituals work.
• Demons can come out of your mouth and they look like insects.
• Candy and trick-or-treating is a part of a large-scale stunt to get kids interested in Halloween and then lure them over to the dark side.
• Paganism is not cool.
• The earth knows it is subject to bondage (yeah, I didn't get it either).
• The more fake blood spilled in a movie, the more "highly charged" the movie is.
• Marilyn Manson manifested into a demon right before Russ's very eyes. Manson was also wearing a thong and Russ didn't want to touch him. Hm, methinks he doth protest too much....

Part of me wants to send Derek and Sharon some "ritualistic" object just to fuck with them. Or just any object, because obviously they think everything is loaded with nazi powers. How about a Gordon Little People figurine? Can you imagine what they would do if they opened a package and there was nothing in it but Gordon? One second Gordon's playfully swinging on the little tire swing of his Fisher Price™ Sesame Street® Clubhouse Playset...the next second he's telekinetically taking down humanity.

As for good and bad energy and charged objects and all that crap, why can't I keep my iPod charged? Does that mean the battery is shot? I wish someone would charge that. I can't be expected to go to the gym if I can't listen to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" on the elliptical.

Seriously, I'm not so naive as to believe that the U.S. government isn't hiding shit, but a worldwide bot conspiracy? Think about it: people can't even organize a birthday party or a fucking potluck without it spiraling into chaos. Who knows. Maybe they're right and I'll have to someday pay for making fun of them. But if I'm going to burn hell for this, at least let me get that stupid iPod charged so I can bring it along. I really want to listen to WHAM.

EXCLUSIVE!: Jayden James speaks!

I simply do not understand how the likes of Perez Hilton and Trent Vanegas get to appear as celebrity insiders on Best Week Ever and MTV awards shows when I, RockitQueen, get the most amazing exclusives of any gossip maven in Hollywood. Must be my caring nature.

Well, today I offer you readers an EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW with JAYDEN JAMES SPEARS FEDERLINE following last night's madcap fiasco at Casa Crack n' Crazy (and don't tell me you don't know what I'm referring to). That's right: JJ texted me early this morning following his release from the hospital to give me the NO-HOLDS-BARRED TRUTH behind Britney's breakdown. You'll be surprised at how much more articulate he is at speaking than he is at writing (but then again, he's not exactly learning from Marilyn vos Savant). Anyway, enjoy his whimsical prose, and note that the Britney Terror Alert has been raised to SEVERE.

Oh, and EAT IT, TMZ!

ROCKITQUEEN: JJ, how are you doing, kiddo?

JAYDEN JAMES: All good in the hood.

RQ: How is Sean Preston?

JJ: My brother didn't bother to tell me or my father, but I think he's doing rather fine considering Britney's decline.

RQ: You boys were taken to the hospital?

JJ: The nurse was terse, but it could have been much worse. We checked out, then clocked out. Clip-clap-clop-out.

RQ: What triggered Britney's meltdown last night?

JJ: She got a bad Frap.

RQ: Excuse me?

JJ: You know, a Frap...from the pap.

RQ: From the pap? Meaning the paparazzi.

JJ: Yeah. He brought her a Frap and it was Caffè Vanilla. She wanted White Chocolate Mocha. She screamed at the pap then threw the Frap. She flailingly flung the frosty fuddle.

RQ: Was it at that point that she locked herself in her room?

JJ: Yes. She screamed, "I get what I want!" and in the room she went. Daddy got pissed, said, "Give me my boys!" but all we wanted were our new Christmas toys.

RQ: And then the police showed up?

JJ: The men in blue said, "Open this door!" and Britney said, "Not 'til I get a score from those whores!" They kicked the door down and whisked us away. She giggled and laughed and said, "I'm ready to play!" Just like her to be a cliche.

RQ: What happened then?

JJ: The medics maneuvered Mom masterfully and strapped her to a stretcher while stripers stripped the damaged domicile dutifully.

RQ: Was she under the influence of drugs or alcohol that you know of?

JJ: I predict a Twinkie defense, RockitQueen. You know what I mean. All those Cheetos and Chalupas don't keep her lean. And don't forget all that Red Bull and Frap caffeine.

RQ: This must have been very scary for you and Sean Preston.

JJ: Very scary, but very necessary.

RQ: JJ, have you been reading Dr. Seuss books with Daddy?

JJ: Yes-mess-bess.

RQ: Thanks for filling us in on the story and good luck.

JJ: Thanks. I'll heed it, 'cause we're gonna need it.

Well, there you have it! The exclusive tale from the elusive and reclusive Jayden James about the abusive and intrusive Britney! Damn, that is one weird kid...

The mysterious world of SkyMall

All of a sudden I'm all into SkyMall. It's so fascinating.

For the unfamiliar, SkyMall is that catalog filled with sundry crapola that you find in the back of airline seats next to the barf bags. It's sort of like The Sharper Image, only with weirder and less necessary stuff. Because what better time than while you're 30,000 feet above Peoria than to buy that Bigfoot Garden Sculpture you've always wanted? (By the way, did you know that you don't actually have to be on a plane to order from SkyMall? I didn't! And you can! Their website happily offers online shopping. So don't book a flight just so you can see the latest awesomeness SkyMall has to offer.)

The website doesn't answer my number one question about SkyMall, which is: why? Who came up with the idea to put catalogs on airplanes and who OKed that idea and why is it that there is a new catalog every time I get on a plane, yet I never see anyone actually ordering anything? Is that what goes on in first class? Everyone kicks their feet up in the complimentary slippers, sipping complimentary champagne and ordering SkyMall shit? Well, even if that's not what happens, that's how I'm going to picture first class from now on. Plus, everyone will be wearing furs and tuxedos.

Anyway, my favorite SkyMall products fall into the dubious "Health & Wellness" category, which is maggotty with hilarious useless shit. Like the Tranquil Sounds Oxygen Bar, for instance. This handy little device is nothing short of a miracle product. As we know all too well, "work, stress, drinking and environmental factors deplete our oxygen and affect our health. This device helps you feel rejuvenated and relaxed. Breathing 30% oxygen-enriched air from the included headset gives your body the clean, fresh oxygen it craves."

As opposed to, say, just breathing 100% oxygen-enriched air for free? But that's not all—"soothing music provides the tranquility your mind needs." So while you're breathing a fraction of actual air, you also get Kenny G blasting out at you. All this for the low, low price of $499.

Also, I want to know how work, stress and drinking deplete our oxygen. Tell us, SkyMall. This sounds important.

Here's another fun one: the Digital Child Tracker. "While your kids enjoy their independence, you'll be glad to know you can digitally find them anytime. They wear the watch-like tracer, and you hold the receiver that tells where they are—even if they're not within sight." Effective only when Junior doesn't take it off, strap it to the dog's leg and sneak off with his ne'er-do-well pals for a smoke behind the Pamida.

The safety products are across-the-board hilarious. For example, here we have the Telespy Phone. For a mere $79.99, your mortal wall phone can be replaced with a super-duper SPY PHONE that "looks innocent enough, but if an intruder gains access to your home, will call to tell you!" Can you imagine?

Phone: *ring, ring*
You: Hello?
Phone: (robot voice) Hello, there is an intruder in the house.
You: What? Where?
Phone: (robot voice) Get the fuck out of the house. Now.

Actually, it's better than that. Here's how the Telespy Phone actually works:

When you want to put the TeleSpy function into operation, first dial the phone number you can be reached at, then hang up. Turn the Telespy switch to "on", and that phone number will immediately be called. Answer or not, but 60 seconds later the TeleSpy is activated. Then, if an intruder is detected within 30' of the phone base's detector, the phone will automatically call that last number, and allow the listener to listen to the sounds in the room, and determine what's going on.

And after all that you realize either (a.) your asshole kid took off his Digital Child Tracker to play a prank on you, or (b.) the intruder is right behind you with a gun in your back. I mean, is that the stupidest invention or what?

Actually, it's not. This is: the iKONG Hi Tech Acupuncture Point Eye & Temple Air Massager. Because nothing says comfort and tranquility like a ginormous acupuncture needle right in your eye. OK, that's not really what it does—"the iKONG stimulates the pressure points surrounding the eye area. Through the use of air pressure, heat compression and vibration, the iKONG can stimulate the eye, forehead, and temple while relieving eye strain." So if it malfunctions, basically you'll have hot, vibrating air pressure nodules jabbing into your eyes, forehead and temples. Sign me up!

I haven't even gotten to the other categories yet. Like "Outdoor Living," featuring such decorative delights as Basho The Sumo Wrestler, which "adds a touch of the Far East" to your yard. Or "Auto & Hardware", where you can "give yourself a chuckle and add a third brake light for safety" with Animated Hitch Critters. And then there's the dreaded "Apparel & Accessories" category, where you'll find The Slanket, a big ol' blankie with sleeves (and boasting, it appears, Andy Dick as a spokesmodel), and other items you never thought you needed.

And you can buy all of this and more WHILE YOU'RE ON A PLANE! All and none of it makes any kind of sense. And yet, I can't look away.

I guess this means I'll have to blog about this topic again at some point, since I really want to comment on Automatic Garage Door Opener and the Motorized Snack Float and the ThunderBolt Storm Detector but this post is way too long already.

It's 2008, bitch!

Many of you know that I have an extraordinary visual sense, so I'm going to grace you with three predictions for the new year:

• If 2007 was the year for rehab, 2008 is going to be the year of "rehab is for suckers."
• The Count will be released and doesn't fulfill his promise of disappearing into the Norwegian wilderness and never writing another angry screed for the public again.
• If you know what's good for you, you'll buy stock in SkyMall.