I got a rash Friday. It’s in the inside of my elbow and it’s ugly. It irratates me and I’m going to the doctor tomorrow morning. It’s heat rash, I think, but I don’t want my arm to fall off. Couldn’t be able to post or anything else.

I’ve finally figured out where Storage Wars and its clones come from. There was a commercial for a semi-upscale furniture store. Hubby walks in with a dining room chair with fire orange shag cushions. The wife says no. He shows up with a mounted deer’s head. Another turndown. Where does all the husband’s shit go? Into a storage locker, of course. He pays a year’s rent and pretty soon it expires because his wife has been distracting him with chores, sex, food and visits to semi-upscale furniture stores. The unit comes up for sale and one of the “stars” of the series bids on it and “wins” the husband’s stuff. They root around in the locker and expose for all to see the treasures he’s won. Somewhere the husband is hiding in his man cave and he sees all the furniture his mom told him looked good in a bachelor’s apartment. Along with that there’s beer mirrors, a collection of Hustler, assorted trophies from dates he met at the bars before he met wifey and a box of paperback porn that he bought during that dry spell in the Eighties. Does he scream at his wife for making him put his past in storage? No, he hopes no one finds the Polaroids he took on camera night at Boobs-A-Lot.

I’ve got a TV crush on sevewral women. Don’t worry, it won’t lead to stalking. A TV crush is one that you know won’t come to anything, except a few weird dreams. Right now the local news I watch has got a new line-up of female reporters. Every night at six they’re introduced covering stories both serious and trivial. They’re beautiful, every single one. That’s why they’re on the news and a lot of other women aren’t. There are some regulars; Julie Chen, Gale King, Chelsey Handler, Jenny McCarthy the list goes on. Susan Fenniger and Ghiada Delaurentes carry the cooking contingent along with Cat Cora and Ann Burrell. The list is as long as my imagination. I’ll never meet Jenna Elfmann or Lucy Lawless. The fantasies are PG because I believe that the erotic part of my life should take place with a willing, loving companion. Til that happens, I’ll flash on the local reporter who’s covering flooded underpasses and think how nice dinner and a movie would be. Then I go back to reality. It’s safer there.

Just stopped on a show caleed Big Ang. She has big lips and big breasts sounds like a woman who’d tie you down to the bed and have her way with you. She has a vocabulary that would make a sailor proud. We’re getting a look at her medical history in the show that snagged me. Her BFF Janine shows up and they talk. Got to get away before my brain rots. Stop on Piers Morgan chatting up Robert Blake. It’s like a cobra that has a rabbit in its sights.

Sites to checkout:

http://www.susielandeau.com

http://www.kitchenslattern.wordpress.com

http://www.tiffafywhite.wordpress.com

http://www.jennyhansenauthor.wordpress.com

http://piperbayard.wordpress.com

http://www.edrivets.com

TALK TO ME, FEED MY NEED FOR COMMUNICATION, SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL FOOD BANK, ADOPT A SHELTER PET, HAVE YOUR LOCAL POLITICIAN SPAYED OR NEUTERED, KNOW WHAT TOUR KIDS WATCH ON TV, BOYCOTT JUNK TV, READ.

THE WEED OF CRIME BEARS BITTER FRUIT. THE SHADOW KNOWS HEH.HEH,HEH,HEH.