Some of our Presidents were freaks

Scientists have just confirmed the left side of President Lincoln's face was much smaller than the right. A condition called cranial facial microsomia. Are there any other physical quirks of former Presidents that have yet to be made public? JSB breaks it down:

Lyndon Baines Johnson -- Superfluous fourth nipple

The third nipple is all the rage these days. British songstress Lilly Allen even whipped hers out during the filming of a game show last month. Johnson had the rarer still fourth nipple, and it was as Texas-sized as the rest of him. A crude man, Johnson was fond of showing his gigantic fourth nipple, which he named Clarence, to friend and foe alike. Any 60s era member of the White House secretary pool has a tale of recoiling in horror as Johnson burst in with his shirt undone and Clarence bearing down on her.

Warren Harding -- Relative of Mr. Spock

29th President Warren Harding was part Vulcan. But, as he was fond of telling his poker buddies, "not the good part." The 29th president, generally considered the worst in US history, packed a stunning amount of scandal and cronyism into his two years in office, before dying suspiciously. The only time he ever displayed the famous Vulcan logic that flowed through his partly copper blood was when he declared, "I am not fit for this office and never should have been here."

James Madison -- Dorsal Fin

James Madison is the "Father of the Constitution." But he also had a terrible secret. A scaly tail that emanated from the small of his back. Madison was the first President to wear long trousers, as opposed to knee-breeches. While it was assumed this was because the longer pants made the 5'4 inch Madison appear taller, they actually gave him more space to comfortably hide his tail. Because of his shame, Madison's marriage to the stylish Dolly was never consummated, leaving him childless. Far from a brilliant tactical move, the Louisiana Purchase, which Madison arranged during his time as Secretary of State, was predicated on the soon-to-be President's life long desire to return to the swamp where he belonged.

Franklin Pierce -- Never really existed

After the nation survived and thrived during the three years unelected No-Nothing Millard Fillmore was at the helm, Congress decided it made no difference who the President was and appointed a feral dog named Rex to the office. Rex quickly absconded to the woods behind the White House, leaving Congress in the embarrassing situation of having to convince the public they were still being governed by a feral dog, even though the feral dog was nowhere to be found. Four years later the nation was set on a course towards civil war. The "Franklin Pierce" character was created after the war by the Free Masons in an attempt to forever whitewash Congress's horrible and extra-constitutional decision to appoint Rex. The man in the picture above is actually an Austrian pianist named Manfred. Presidential historians such as Dorris Kearns Goodwin and Robert Dallek know the truth, but don't dare cross the Masons. Their shame is a nation's.

John Edwards is a big but ineffective phony

Tough day for Presidential hopeful John Edwards, as the editorial editor at South Carolina's largest paper blasted Edwards, who was born in the Palmetto state, for being a "big phony."

The detailed column was linked all over the Internet -- probably because the charge that Edwards is less than genuine on a grand scale resonates with many of those who have seen Edwards in action.

Not surprisingly, the former North Carolina Senator's talkative wife Elizabeth has a different take on what might be preventing her husband's campaign from catching fire. She claims Edwards is having trouble getting news coverage because he lacks the racial and gender novelty of his two main Democratic rivals. "We can't make John black, we can't make him a woman," Elizabeth laments.

Technically correct. Although that doesn't mean John shouldn't try.

People have been telling Hillary Clinton she isn't black her whole life. But did that stop the North Side of Chicago Methodist from channeling the colorful lilt of a Baptist minister from Birmingham when she addressed a black audience?

Likewise, Rudy Giuliani bears even less resemblance to a woman than your typical aging bald man does. Yet when was the last time the former mayor of New York passed up an opportunity to put on lipstick and pantyhose?

Not only have Clinton's and Giuliani's racial and gender voyeurism garnered them the attention Edwards craves, but black people and women seem to appreciate their efforts: Hillary is polling well with African Americans, despite the presence of Barack Obama, and Rudy can boast surprisingly strong support among women who aren't his ex-wives or daughter.

Poor John Edwards can't even get his phoniness right.

Congress to make Washington look like Baghdad

With Hillary cruising in every national poll, and Rudy still keeping a good arm's length between himself and his main competitor -- who happens to be a man too lazy to do yucky candidate stuff like raise money, make speeches, declare his candidacy, or leave his house -- the best political race of the summer has nothing to do with party primaries.

It's been an epic race to the bottom involving President George W. Bush and the 110th Congress. And the judge is you, American person who responds to opinion polls which ask questions pertaining to approval and disapproval.

The contest has been neck and neck for the last few months, as both branches have flirted with and occasionally dipped below historic levels of unpopularity. But there may have been a break out this week, with Congress just registering a three percent approval rating.

Granted it was on a specific question: Do you approve of how Congress is handling the war in Iraq? And, probably, if the question had been of more general approval Congress would have scored in the Bushian neighborhood of 25 percent.

But the question is not an irrelevant one. And three percent . . . I'd be fascinated to see if the reanimated corpse of Adolf Hitler could beat a three percent approval rating from the American public. I'm thinking it would because, you know, the novelty of a reanimated corpse.

Congress doesn't seem to be taking the latest round of polling well, and over the last few days the halls of Capitol Hill have teetered on the brink of violence.

It started with a dispute between some congressman from Nebraska and the son of Jesse Jackson, also a congressman. Angry words were exchanged and the junior Jackson, a Democrat, requested that the distinguished gentleman from Nebraska, a Republican, step outside with him. The Nebraskan declined, citing the fancy martial arts moves Jackson had been showing off in the House gymnasium.

If last night is any indication, Jackson (pictured) won't be the only congressmen boning up on his hand-to-hand combat. As the clock approached midnight, an agriculture spending bill, the hot topic of illegal immigration, a quick gavel, and a vote counting dispute had Democrats and Republicans hurling verbal volleys at each other and preparing to enter into West Side Story-like battle poses.

Will next week be the week Congress finally throws down? I'm not sure. But I do know, given the popularity of the WWE and Ultimate Fighting, at this point fisticuffs could only raise Congress's approval rating.

Will Smith will save our cities

When the author Anthony Burgess, and then the filmmaker Stanley Kubrick, envisioned a future where remorseless teenage thugs terrorized the general population, they filled the soundtrack of A Clockwork Orange with pieces such as Beethoven's Ninth and The William Tell Overture.

Just one of many examples of a film signaling over-the-top violence with the grandiosity and dark foreboding that is often at the heart of classic operatic works.

This phenomena also pops up in real life. Taking their cue from the Vietnam war horror flick Apocalypse Now, our troops in Iraq still play Wagner's Ride of The Valkyries -- amongst the heavy metal and hip hop -- when they prepare themselves for battle.

That is why it has always seemed odd to me when municipalities -- like Tacoma, Washington recently -- insist a key to quelling the aggressive behavior of teenage drug dealers and gang members is pumping Mozart and friends into the areas they congregate.

Granted, there may be confusion at first. But, after they got used to it, why wouldn't the type of music that credibly prepared Colonel Kilgore to rain death from above on Vietnamese women and children, and realistically gave Alex and his druids the jolt needed to go out and rape and pillage, motivate today's young do-badders to commit the crimes they were already inclined to commit?

Not just commit them, but commit them on an even grander scale, and with the extra kick of intelligence that it is claimed listening to classical music provides. Are we trying to keep our cities safe or develop super criminals?

A much better way to put a damper on wilding youths would be to pump in some of the more g-rated hip-hop from the pre-gansta rap era. I'm thinking Young MC or, better yet, the wholesome stylings of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince.

If there is anybody out there who can pull off a drive-by after listening to the eternal goofiness of Parents Just Don't Understand, I'm a prepared to bow down to our new Crip overlord.

Your mother's a drunken astronuat

I am very sympathetic to the plight of those who get busted for DWIs. For who hasn't driven somewhere, imbibed overly, and then faced the next step of getting back home.

The calling a cab solution is fine and good in the short term. But whenever there develops a significant distance between yourself and your automobile a longer term logistical challenge ensues. Favors will have to be called in. It will end with you helping with an exhausting summertime move or providing a short term housing solution for an excitable dog.

The truth is, I also feel bad when I read an airline pilot has been sacked for flying drunk. What the hell are they supposed to do during a three hour layover in Buffalo? Plus planes basically fly themselves these days. And it's not like there is anything to run into up there.

Come to think of it, there are many activities that "polite society" frowns upon mixing with alcohol but I say bottoms up:

Air traffic control Wouldn't two of everything make it doubly safe for everyone?

Surgery I'll take my surgeon relaxed and happy over yours uptight and preoccupied with his alimony payments and getting sued by John Edwards.

Teaching If I had a virtually unlimited number of wishes, one of them would be doing it over again with drunker teachers.

Boating Tell me a single good reason to go boating sober and I will reconsider.

Law enforcement The drunker the cop, the more likely he will respond to your criminal transgression and smart mouth with a quick beating -- rather than a lingering arrest.

Leader of the free world Would an off the wagon George W. Bush be any less popular? I'm still waiting for the real second term shake up.

But today I learned there is a limit to even my tolerance when it comes performing tasks while intoxicated. That limit is the earth's atmosphere. Granted I wasn't even aware we had a drunk astronaut problem until I read this report from NASA -- which found multiple examples of "heavy use of alcohol" in violation of the space agency's 12 hour bottle to throttle ban.

It doesn't so much bother me that our astronauts are getting sauced before performing perhaps the most dangerous task legitimate society has to offer. What irks me is that an astronaut makes what . . . one maybe two space flights over a twelve month period? Meaning, save no more than 24 hours a year, Buzz Lightyear can be as drunk as he wants and still in compliance with NASA.

What a stunning lack of self control, to fall afoul of NASA's minimal alcohol regulations. Mix that with diaper woman, and I'm starting to get the feeling that if our impulse challenged astronauts ever came across extra terrestrials it would be the humans who start with the provocative prodding and probing.

Badgers? Badgers!

It hasn't gone unnoticed that the parts of Iraq controlled by the British tend to be calmer than the American controlled sections. While the most ardent Anglophile would probably attribute this to English efficiency, and those not so fond of America would claim it was because of Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo Bay, I think most experts agree this is because the native population of the British zone is such that sectarian strife is less likely.

What if there was another explanation for this discrepancy? And what if it involved badgers?

Not just any badger, but giant man-eating badgers with ill-tempered dispositions. Since I've been fortunate enough never to have come across such a horrifying beast, I will use the words of Basra housewife Suad Hassan, who was assaulted by the creature as she slept -- and displays, in her description of the attack's aftermath, a charming and versatile knowledge of the mammalian class of vertebrate:

My husband hurried to shoot it but it was as swift as a deer. It is the size of a dog but his head is like a monkey.

The residents of Basra seem to agree that the super badgers were released upon the city by the British military for the purpose of intimidation. And who wouldn't refrain from strapping an IED under a truck when faced with requital from such a talented chimera? Suddenly that Sunni over there -- the one whose lower jaw isn't articulated to his upper jaw in a manner which makes it virtually impossible to loosen his oral clasp once he hungrily bites down -- doesn't looks so bad.

Of course the British deny employing souped-up badger enforcers, and even got a military spokesman, a Major Mike Shearer, to declare: "We can categorically state that we have not released man-eating badgers into the area."

A likely story, indeed. The Brits, who have been in the colonization game for as long and hard as anyone, surely know that the badger, aside from the human and the polar bear, is the only animal known to attack without provocation. And, unlike the polar bear, the badger is compact and can be introduced into most climates. The badger's sinister burrowing skills alone are likely to strike fear and compliance into the hearts of any a superstitious third world populous.

It's just too bad our Pentagon is still throwing its time and money at a gay bomb.

John McCain probably thinks you're gay

There are a lot of things that go into the failing of a political campaign. Most prominently a lack of funds, bad poll numbers and a candidate showing hints of dementia. But, when a campaign does implode, those in the political analysis game will be looking outside the box for the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

Could it be, when the pundits reflect upon the wreckage of McCain 08, that they will be forced to conclude the Senator's humpy spine of a presidential dream was cracked by homosexual outerwear?

Apparently the sudden exodus of campaign personnel that has everyone severely downgrading McCain's already dwindling chances was sparked by a series of tirades McCain directed at his staff. Among his accusations were that his handlers forced him, in a misguided attempt to shave years off the septuagenarian's appearance, to wear an onslaught of "gay" sweaters.

Maybe it's a generational thing, but I find McCain's charge confusing on both counts: I simply don't associate excessive sweater wearing with either the gay or the young. In fact, it immediately conjures up an image of a middle-aged African American doctor who imparts curmudgeonly but lovable morsels of wisdom from his well-appointed brownstone while shilling pudding pops on the side. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

But I will say this: Tying a sweater around your waist does clash a bit with traditional heterosexuality. The look is a bit skirty, if you ask me. So if McCain's people were booking him into stuffy halls without providing the Senator with some sort of sweater holding staffer to handle the garment in question when things started to heat up, I could see the point McCain was trying to make.

Sometimes when the terrorists win, we all win

The defining characteristic of the marriage of Salman Rushdie, a writer, and Padma Lakshmi, a model and TV host, is that she looks like a model and he looks like frog.

There is little more upsetting than a really good looking person having sex with a really ugly person. It's not quite on par with bestiality, but it's too close for comfort. The practice is reviled by the good looking and ugly alike.

Rushdie married Lakshmi in 2004, at a time when the urgency behind the million dollar fatwa the Iranian government issued against Rushdie for blasphemy had long faded. But the jihadist's fervor reignited last month after Rushdie was awarded a Knightship by the Queen of England.

Suddenly, as Lakshmi considered the pros and cons of her marriage, she was forced to add the chance of fiery death to the amphibian aesthetic she was already weighing against her husband's fame and top notch literary mind.

It didn't take long for that camel's back to break, and Lakshmi filed for divorce today.

So the terrorists, by ending Rushdie's and Lakshmi's unholy union, have succeeded where countless snarky blog posts and jealous whispers have failed. But, really, isn't this a victory for all of us? And, if so, could it be we have more in common, the terrorists and us, than previously believed?

Dems prefer Edwards to Coulter!

John Edwards might look good in front of a jury or on the cover of Men's Vogue but, whenever Edwards is contrasted with another politician, the public has quickly found the politician not named John Edwards more attractive.

For a man who seeks the presidency this is a very bitter pill to swallow. And who else has had the misfortune of having to, in his maiden run for national office, match up against such glowing towers of charisma as John Kerry and Dick Cheney? I'm sure Edwards is thinking, "if I could only catch a break."

Well, you make your own breaks in this world and Edwards, a bootstrap case he'll tell you himself, has grown tired of waiting for the political system to throw him a manageable foil, and has gone out and found one on his own.

OK, Ann Coulter isn't really a politician -- but she does write and talk about politics. And, I guess, Edwards didn't really find Ann Coulter -- she started it by calling him a faggot. But the point is Edwards is totally crushing Coulter in the Democratic primary.

So much more popular is Edwards than Coulter, among Democrats, that Edwards is able to fundraise by simply mentioning Coulter's name and implying the damage a Coulter presidency would have on the nation.

The Edwards campaign calls these spoils "Coulter cash." While this revenue flow might not carry the same value as the "Wall Street cash" or the "Hollywood cash" a Clinton or an Obama collects, Edwards is probably better off than the candidate forced to live off "Ingraham cash" or "Schlessinger cash."

Edwards's match up with Coulter has done so much more for him than just raise funds. It has also shown the nation that, as president, Edwards wouldn't back down from a mean person. In fact, President Edwards would go so far as to get his wife to call the mean person and ask said mean person if they would please refrain from being so mean. Kim Jong Il, watch out!

If Edwards is lucky -- and he certainly deserves a little luck -- Rush Limbaugh will continue the former North Carolina's Senator's momentum by calling him "sparkly" or "fruity" or "moist."

Paris Hilton finds her match

Since I like to be clever, and since Scooter Libby was sentenced to prison on almost the same day as Paris Hilton began serving her jail term, I tried to my darnedest to think of a witty blog post connecting the two. Unfortunately, besides the goofy first names and the sex with Dick Cheney, the two don't share a whole lot in common.

Frustrated, I abandoned the project. Then, as I was reading an article about how the Feds have taken over the Michael Vick dog-fighting probe, it dawned on me. I was trying to pair Paris with the wrong legally challenged news maker. Because, when you get down to it, Paris Hilton and Michael Vick are practically the same person. You don't believe me? Consider this:

Social disease Although up to 20 percent of Americans have Herpes Simplex 2 you can't usually tell by looking at them. Unless they look like Michael Vick or Paris Hilton. Who have both pulled off the neat rare trick of inadvertently revealing their positive herpes status to the public. Paris by not paying the rent on a storage locker that housed, among other things, her medical records, and Vick through his hilarious Ron Mexico ordeal.

Animal cruelty Regardless of what the Feds find, if you don't think Vick is or has ever been involved in the vicious blood sport of dog fighting, well . . . I have a 5'11 running quarterback from Virginia Tech for you to take with your first pick in the NFL draft. Paris's dog cruelty is more subtle. But would you want to spend your life crammed in a tiny purse, only to be left defenseless and unfed when your mistress goes off to perform sex acts on Persian club owners and the relatives of Greek shipping magnates?

Extreme forgetfulness during travel Paris got herself into this whole mess by forgetting she didn't have a license to drive a car. Vick, no stranger to the absent mind, once forgot the water bottle he was illegally taking onto an airplane also had a secret compartment to illegally put weed in. Luckily, Vick also forgot to put his weed in the secret compartment.

Siblings Paris and Micheal each have a much less famous -- but still a little bit famous -- younger sibling who tries to follow in their footsteps. That would be Nicky and Marcus.

Sex with Cheney They don't call him Dick for nothing. What did you think goes on in an undisclosed location anyway?

Controversial gestures of obscenity with animal names When Vick wants to grab a large crowd's attention he raises his hand and flips the bird. Paris opens her legs and flashes the kitty .

Under qualification Look, I don't want to say Paris and Vick don't have talents -- Paris would be great in a hotel room full of 15 year old boys and Vick would be the finest smear the queer (are we still calling it that?) practitioner the grassy area between the basketball courts and jungle gym has ever seen. But, let's face it, based on their skill sets Vick has no business playing quarterback in the NFL and Paris has no business walking upright.

These similarities need to be noted and considered if and when Vick is sentenced for his crimes against caninity. Obviously, like his twin Paris, Vick would find prison drafty and suicidally depressing. So they might as well send him directly to house arrest. Only the house would be the one Vick owned in Virginia, but likes to deny ever being to. And the confinement would be restricted to the room were they found the doggy tread mills, the breeding rape stand and the blood on the walls and the carpet.

To spice things up there would have to be a bunch of hungry pit bulls let down there too. And Dick Cheney, smirking by the rape stand.

Imitation is the best form of behavior modification

As fans of Entourage know, one of the keys to the show's success is Jeremy Piven's over-the-top portrayal of Ari Gold, the brash, obnoxious, self-absorbed and often-cruel Hollywood super agent.

It is also isn't much of a secret that Ari Gold is not-so-loosely based on Ari Emanuel, who plays a brash, obnoxious, self-absorbed and often-cruel Hollywood super agent in real life.

Emanuel was such a terror that, the story goes, agency underlings who valued their dignity were afraid to enter Emanuel's sight line -- let alone a room or an elevator he occupied.

But ever since Entourage has hit the cable wires insiders have noticed a change in the original Ari's behavior. As one of them put it, "he's mellowed since America found out he's a douche."

So there you have it. If you happen to have an unbearable co-worker or relative the best way to cure them is have Jeremy Piven play them in a sitcom.

Unfortunately this will not work if you are a co-worker or relative of Piven, who, as a result of his Entourage-fueled ascent from slubby character actor to a pumped up, hair-plugged Hollywood A-minus lister, has reportedly adopted all of the egotistical histrionics of the Ari's, Gold and Emanuel.

Art imitating life and then being imitated by life. There's no cure for that.

A bitter mouse's cry for attention

The big news in comic animal cartoon characters this week was Mickey Mouse getting caught encouraging -- on behalf of Hamas -- Palestinian children to fight Israel and to work for the global domination of Islam.

While most news reports are using words such as "imitation" and knockoff" to describe the mouse, I'm not so sure about that. Some will argue Hamas's Mickey is a little rounder in the face, but aren't we all?

Because, really, how much do we know about this mouse who has been a symbol of our nation for so long?

Mickey worked hard between 1928 and 1953, knocking out shorts for Walt Disney with great regularity. Then came his long current period of quasi-retirement. Sure they trot Mickey out for a parade or the odd cameo and affix his image to clubs and all sorts of merchandise but, basically, Mickey has been spending most of the last 70 years wandering his luxurious Burbank studio, watching as the snark of hated rival Bugs Bunny takes the day while Mickey's own very name has become synonymous with worthless currency and all things incompetent.

Is it really a surprise that a mouse so idle and mocked, while at the same time so rich and successful, would resort to radicalism to give his life a sense of purpose and to lash out at those who callously dismiss him?

Remember Mickey Mouse's greatest life influence was Walt Disney, a man who, legend has it, fostered a deep resentment towards Jews and their control of Hollywood -- the land Disney loved and coveted most.

Given Mickey's previous failure to complete such rudimentary tasks as steering a boat or firing a gun, a Hamas/Mickey partnership shouldn't prove disruptive to the world order. But it still represents a dark chapter in the long life of a beloved American icon.

Improbably, Germans suck at racism

Because, 70 years ago, they let their feelings of racial superiority get away from them, and this helped trigger a war that cost 72 million people their lives, the Germans are often branded as racists.

Since World War 2 the German people have made an effort -- involving education campaigns and billboards -- to become less racist. They must figure it is the right thing to do and, at the end of the day, all their past racism really got them was a lot of burnt down cities and a country split in half.

How are these efforts of reformation working? I've never been to Germany, or know any Germans, so it's difficult for me to judge.

Although we may have just got some insight into the mind of the German on the subjects of race and racism with a recent controversy concerning a leaked tape of German army recruits being trained in machine gun use by an army instructor:

"You are in the Bronx," the instructor says. "A black van stops in front of you. Three African-Americans get out and insult your mother in the coarsest possible way." The recruit is told to fire and shout the English expletive "motherfucker" with each round."

After reading this quote my first reaction was, of course, that after decades of inactivity the German army wouldn't last a day in the Bronx. But after that -- African-Americans. It wasn't like the instructor was staying away from crass informal language, and I've seen enough articles with the same quote to establish African-Americans is, in fact, a direct translation.

And this represents the duality of German racism in 2007: They see black people as target practice, but they've been successfully trained to use PC, hyphenated terms such as African-Americans when describing the black people.

That's sort of racist, but not good enough. The next time I see a Hollywood film and a German is, inevitably, the head of the international band of white supremacists I'm calling BS.

The German as a racist stereotype is hopelessly outdated. We should stick to stereotypes that still apply -- like the German as the sexual deviant.

The perils of procreation and the presidency

I've noticed that certain segments of the blogsphere have noticed that Supreme Court Justice and law and order champion Antonin Scalia's adult daughter was recently arrested for DUI while driving from a McDonalds with her three children.

These days, the ever-expanding fringes of the virtual political landscape don't so much as bother to hide their schadenfreude when their "enemies" face any sort of hardship, family included.

While the message board crazies gleefully devised their best "hypocrisy" angle, I noted with awe Scalia has nine children. That's a lot of children. And when you have nine children there is a better than not chance at least one of them is going to be criminally irresponsible -- especially when tasty, tempting Big Macs are involved.

That got me thinking, is it a coincidence that the last two presidents have had just three children between them? You could even argue President Bush's two children were a botched attempt to have one child.

It wasn't always that way: Bush's equally presidential dad has five kids. Reagan had all sorts of children of differing mothers and biological status. Going back to the nineteen century, President John Tyler had 15 kids. In fact, they called Tyler the "accidental" president. (I'm sure if I looked into that I'd find it was for other reasons.)

But in these nasty political times, in this all-access environment of Facebook and The Smoking Gun, could it be that it's mo' children mo' problems when running for high office?

Now a childless presidential candidate wouldn't fly. And, as you can see, none of the major candidates are in that barren boat:

McCain 7 children
Romney 5 children
Edwards 3 children
Obama 2 children
Giuliani 2 children
Clinton 1 child

The early frontrunners are, of course, Clinton and Giuliani.

It should be no surprise the precisely programed Mrs. Clinton has the ideal number of child for modern political warfare -- and one that has gone through eight years of battle testing.

That Giuliani has kept himself to two is surprising, considering self-control is his perceived weakness. And no, Rudy never had any potentially compromised offspring with the second cousin he "mistakenly" made his first wife.

Snap judgement: American Idol

Although I am fan of America and singing, I had never seen American Idol. That is not to say I don't have a substantial body of knowledge pertaining to the show. American Idol is a viewer participatory competition with real time aspects to it. It also dominates the ratings with its rapidly growing audience. This combination results in it getting covered like a sporting event, and a consumer of media like myself can not help but being attuned to its goings on.

Already up to the waist in American Idol, last night I decided to take my maiden hour-long swim.

The show started by introducing us to a rather unusual contestant. A young Los Angeles man who had, oddly, taken on the mannerisms and demeanor of a wild panther. Despite his handicap, panther man expressed his desire to make his mark as a singer and dancer and in a host of other entertainment-related fields generally closed to members of the big cat family.

His first step was to impress the judges of American Idol. He stalked around the stage, growled and violently hooked his imaginary claw at imaginary threats. I was wondering if he would sing and finally, with prodding from the judges, he did.

I've never really thought much about it, but if a panther was to sing it would probably be in a high pitched rapid fire falsetto -- which he'd alternate with primal hisses. And that's exactly what this panther man did.

I didn't expect the judges to pass him to the next round. America is not ready for an idol so genuinely feline. But I was surprised by the curtness all the judges -- not just Simon Cowell -- dismissed him with. The guy really was like a panther. I would have at least expected an acknowledgement of his uniqueness.

Although maybe the chimera contestant is commonplace. If so, I could see that getting tiresome.

Grease star and pop singer Olivia Newton-John made a special appearance last night as a guest judge. Newton-John is the granddaughter of Noble Prize winning quantum physics pioneer Max Born. Fascinating lineage aside, I can not imagine anyone contributing less to an hour of television than Olivia Newton-John did yesterday.

Going forward, the show followed the expected formula of a quick back story followed by the audition. About half the applicants were good and half really bad.

As for the really bad, I was expecting having-fun-with-it bad. The kind of bad that made William Hung an international sensation for a week or two a few years back.

What I got was tragically delusional bad. The kind of bad that starts with singing worse than me in the shower and ends with begging and hysterical tears.

There is nothing fun about that kind of bad. I would rather be forced to spend the day staring bums in the eye than have to watch a sobbing, crestfallen 18-year old girl be told her voice is an act of aggression (and agree completely with the assessment.) If this is the appeal of the show, they may as well start broadcasting Gitmo interrogations.

Not all the tears came after bad auditions. There was one almost touching moment when some old codger who had to petition to be on the show -- there is a 16 to 28 age limit -- sang a song for his "lady friend" recently deceased. He was a good singer, and his performance triggered unrestrained weeping in Paula Abdul.

I found something out about myself last night. When Paula Abdul cries . . . let's just say it wasn't my manliest moment.

The hour ended with hijinks born from an inside joke I didn't get. The judges all chased each other around the studio, at one point almost knocking over host, ever-tanned Ryan Seacreast, who no longer employs the "Seacreast out" catchphrase. I heard people found it annoying.

For the most part, I hated my hour with American Idol. I will never watch it again. Its popularity is grotesque and scary. Even more so than the hideous man-beast hybrids I now find myself imagining.

Because I don't like to end a post with such negativity, I will note that the girl who was runner up last year is very nice looking.

When urologists go wild nothing good can happen

One of the things you learn, when you read as many news articles as I do, is that on any given day, somewhere in the world, somebody has had their penis unexpectedly removed.

These severings tend to come either at the hands of another -- as a result of a romantic misunderstanding -- or at the at hands of oneself -- as a result of a paranoid psychotic "incident" that usually ends with the severed penis being hurled at a former lover, if not the authorities.

For whatever reason, Thailand seems to the world leader in unwanted castration.

Since I'm relatively sane, cautiously avoid people who possess a temperament that would be conducive to amateur penectomy and don't plan on any trips to Thailand, I couldn't be more confident of living out the rest of my days with my body and penis as one.

But could it be, via Romania, a new trend in surprise penile removal is emerging :

Surgeon Naum Ciomu, who had been suffering from stress at the time, had been operating on patient Nelu Radonescu, 36, to correct a testicular malformation when he suddenly lost his temper. Grabbing a scalpel, he sliced off the penis in front of shocked nursing staff, and then placed it on the operating table where he chopped it into small pieces before storming out of the operating theatre at Bucharest hospital.

Romania's doctor's union is protesting that Ciomu is being forced to pay, out of his own pocket, for some the damages the court awarded Radonescu for his surgical misfortune. They argue Ciomu having his license suspended was punishment enough, and that this case sets a dangerous precedent.

A dangerous and horrifying precedent.

Paul Revere is at home, resting comfortably

The Beckhams are coming! The Beckhams are coming!

But before you don your Indian headdress and stow off to the nearest harbor, it's important to remember that David Beckham won't really turn into the transcendent Tiger Woods/Brad Pitt-red-carpet-hogging Frankenstein some prominent columnists are declaring he could be.

America has been almost impenetrable to English celebrity ever since the Beatles and their British invasion cohorts started their decade-long run of sweet musical terror over 40 years ago.

Sure we will still allow the occasional Scot, like Sean Connery, or the odd Irish band, like U2, through. But the pure-blooded English celebrity doesn't stand much of a chance of achieving modern day glory on our side of the Atlantic.

Look no further than the music industry. The quality of popular British music and the indulgent rock star behavior of British musicians does and always has blown popular American music and musicians away. Yet when British sensations like Oasis announce their grand plans to "take" America they are inevitably rebuffed like Pakenham at New Orleans.

It's been almost a year now, and very few Americans know "who the fuck" the Arctic Monkeys are.

But it's better to be ignored then mocked at the Academy Awards. Which is what happened when English actor Jude Law foolishly tried to endear himself to us Yanks with the sheer volume of his exposure.

It's not that we don't like English people. Quite the contrary, America is perpetually enthralled with the English accent and is always ready to embrace an original English speaker -- like Anthony Hopkins or Simon Cowell -- who achieves his fame after coming to America.

But Americans are loathe to worship someone just because the Limeys did first.

David Beckham seems like a fine fellow, with a terrific attitude towards the vacuity of his fabulously commercialized existence.

And, ever since he named his first born son "Brooklyn," he has earnestly and respectfully tipped his eagerness to be as big in America as he is in Britain and the rest of the world.

So maybe the soccer star will be the guy to break the trend and claim a spot on our long, national red carpet.

But it will be somewhere in the back corner, well-behind a slew of other B-Listers who, unlike Becks, couldn't turn a head in Milan or sell a shoe in Shanghai.

* It could be argued, English quasi boy-banders Duran Duran and Wham! (and Culture Club) did break America in the mid-eighties. But that was still a long time ago.

End of the year crystal ball time

There is not a whole lot going on in this meat-in-a-holiday-sandwich of a week. So it seems like it is a good time to either reflect upon what happened in 2006, or predict what is going to happen in 2007. Since the former would take a lot research and a good memory I have decided on the latter.

But with a twist. I'm not necessarily predicting the big events that will shape our world in 2007. This is a list of ten topics that I might blog about, and you might read about on jsb in the coming year:

Celebrities adopt Eskimos

We'll start with the no-brainer. As global warming hysteria heightens, your better A-listers will fly their private jets to the North Pole and begin adopting/kidnapping Eskimo children --ostensibly to save them from drowning. In their new Malibu homes these young Eskimos will teach their assorted third-world siblings all sorts of new words for snow.

Many academics and public intellectual types will predict the decline of American power without offering up a remotely plausible alternative to it

Didn't it take like hundreds of years for Rome to fall? And the fall of the Roman Empire was supposedly fun. Come on public intellectual types, we're not even having fun yet! On a related note, the rest of the world will continue to adopt our trailblazing bad habits. Since they have already discovered the fat, the lazy and the violent, 07 will be the year the foreigners learn the thrill of over-hyping fake negative trends. In other words, there will be a lot of discussion in strange languages about Crystal Meth epidemics and how there is suddenly too much religion in public life.

This Obama fellow will get press

Having weathered the Obama hype and the Obama backlash, we are now entering the Obama backlash, backlash. The only place we can go from here is Obama backlash, backlash, backlash. And so on. If you are scoring at home, it's good for Obama when there is an even number of backlashes.

Surprise Major League Baseball dopers revealed

I'm not going to even try to dissect the legalese, but it seems like we are now on a path to where the names on the 100 plus positive drug tests from 2003 will be revealed to the public. It won't be much of a surprise if someone like Roger Clemens is on the list, but what if -- and this is based on nothing -- a Derek Jeter pops up. No matter what, we will be forced to rethink our animus towards Bonds and McGwire.

Beauty queens go wild

Not only -- with Miss America and Miss USA -- are there 100 state title holders, but many smaller municipalities and organizations crown beauty queens. What better way to promote tourism to Hillsborough County, FL then by having a smoking-hot Miss Hillsborough County simulate oral sex on random people in a crowded bar, and then post the photos on the Internet with links to other Hillsborough County attractions?

War will be more entertaining

2006 was all about wars in Iraq and Lebanon, and people seemed too invested to really sit back and enjoy the fighting on TV. I'm thinking a crazy, fun, hopefully intercontinental war will pop up in '07. Like maybe South Africa and Chile go at it over water rights. Speaking of which, I see that Ethiopia is currently attacking other nations. Remember when the Ethiopians were a bunch of stick figures, too weak to swat the flies away from their faces. So we send them food and money and this is what they do with it? That Sally Struthers is full of crap. I'd like to see her at The Hague, encased in glass.*

Joe Biden runs for President

I know, he already announced he was going to, but I hope, hope, hope Biden lasts the whole year. In this Youtube era of quick soundbite gaffes, Biden is the only politician we have who brings the length and breath of an old fashioned orator to his potentially offensive statements.

Jeff Garcia and Donovan McNabb have a quarterback controversy

This is predicated on a deep Eagles' run into the playoffs -- so I guess I'm predicting that too. Because, let's face it, everyone loves a quarterback controversy. I can't remember the names of my close friend's girlfriends and wives, but I remember small details of the great Danny White/Gary Hogeboom QB battle of '85. A Garcia/McNabb controversy would be especially fun because it involves the black-hole-like negativity of Philadelphia sports, race and, if Terrell Owens puts his two-cents in, sexual preference.

Lindsay Lohan Turns 21

I remember I stopped drinking two weeks before I turned 21 so it would be special. Actually, that had more to do with me losing my wallet and catching pneumonia. It still worked. I wonder how Lohan will prepare for her big day on July 2? I can only imagine what kind of partying will take place when it comes. Really, I can't even imagine. But I've circled the date on my calender.

Matt Drudge will be obsessed with weather systems, natural disasters, student-teacher sexual liaisons, Hillary Clinton, Israel, nuclear proliferation, stupid criminals and phallic symbols

And it will be the first site I check every morning, and refresh religiously all day.

Just like with my football picks, I implore you not to use these predictions in wagers involving currency, or your good word.

* It turns out Ethiopia is using their new money and robust health to gratefully attack our enemies for us. So I take back my negative implications. Sally Struthers is still full of crap though. Unless she has been working for the CIA all this time ...

The Donald executes a flawless publicity stunt

So Donald Trump didn't fire still-Ms. USA Tara Conner. Instead he gave her the great American second chance and she got on TV and told everyone what a compassionate pageant God The Donald is, and how she is sorry for everything -- especially the millions of impressionable children she didn't consider.

Tara's off to rehab now -- I heard it cured Mel Gibson of the paranoid ranting and Mark Foley of the gay -- and will be placed on a "zero tolerance" period of probation.

For me the whole ordeal is bittersweet. On the one hand, it is nice to see Tara get a second chance, especially when she looked so distraught and cute crying at the press conference.

Who among us, as a 20 year-old pulled from the hills of Kentucky and deposited under the bright lights of New York City, wouldn't do a lot of blow and constantly make out with our Miss Teen USA roommate?

Still, Trump's surprising verdict brings me a certain sadness. For one, it almost guarantees that Tara will be too busy with her rehab and Miss USA responsibilities to attend the jsb New Year's party. Even if she was able to squeeze it in, zero tolerance Tara would be a tease and a buzz kill.

But, more importantly, this was the first time I have ever been able to enthusiastically get behind our reigning Miss USA. Knowing Tara Conner represented the young women of our nation allowed me to walk around my apartment with pride. Yet now they officially tell me the qualities I admired in Tara were unacceptable and wrong. I feel like a stranger in my own country. Is this what it's like to be black?

The worst part of it is I have the sinking suspicion that all of last week has been part of a Donald Trump plot to ingratiate himself to the young beauty queen and, eventually, make Tara Conner wife number four.

If he does, I'm moving to France.

JSB is the first name in car security

Every year Americans spend billions of dollars on car security systems. Yet millions of automobiles are still stolen, stolen from and vandalized.

Here at jsb we have pioneered a three-step system for car security that will protect your automobile in these dangerous times:

Step one Have an earlier model, non-luxury vehicle. With today's generous finance plans anyone can have a "fancy" car. That BMW 3 Series is impressing no one -- besides the potential thief.

Step two Don't lock your doors. Thieves love breaking windows. Breaking a window is fun, and an experienced thief can do so without making much noise. Yet the thief is always on the look out for the thrill of the open door, and will usually test the door handle before going to the blunt object.

Step three The interior of your car should contain nothing but factory installed equipment and trash. Fast food wrappers, empty soda cans and crumpled up Mapquest printouts usually do the trick. Audio cassettes go a long way towards repelling younger thieves.

If you doubt this three-step plan's effectiveness, consider what happened in the parking lot of my apartment last night. Many car windows were broken and stereos, jackets, sunglasses and mp3 players stolen.

Yet my car was left alone. Actually that isn't true. I'm pretty sure thieves did enter my unlocked 98 Saturn, because the month-old half-eaten bag of potato chips that had been sitting on my dashboard is now strewn across the broken-glass filled interior of the late model Lexus that had parked next to me.

Not only is this exciting new security technique free, but it allows you to indulge your slothful impulse of not cleaning out your car. And you'll never have to worry about locking your keys in your car again.

If you really want to go all out, and get the added bonus of eliminating those frantic, home wrecking, searches for your car keys, you can stow the keys in the car under a pile of used tissues. That's a place even the most desperate thief won't search.