He's Bad.

Although the radio announcer made a good point on M.J. - he's screwier than they come, but it's not like he's hanging out in parks, waiting to touch little boys. Parents actually hand over their kids to spend time with him at the Neverland Ranch. So defective-wax-sculpture-dude bears maybe 80% of the responsibility. I don't think that parents should get off scott free (let alone be rewarded) for pimping their kids out to His Freakness.

Anyway, that was a spectacularly dull media frenzy. I just can't get my blood boiling over entertainment figures - I mean, who cares if OJ killed his wife? But start talkin' about Liberal money-laundering where I can't get my hands on the dough, and I'm pissed!

I'm waiting a couple of days to pitch my freshly-returned-from-Europe editor on a couple of story ideas. I fired a brief note in to the Sun's city editor, so we'll see if anything comes of that. Unless, of course, anyone wants to buy the damn car that's been sitting on my mother's driveway for two months. I should just get off my butt and do something about it, but I can't actually squeeze out the time.

Instead, I sit here and blog. No, I can't see the irony.

Forgotten English of the Day: "bannock-hive"
When he who retains a good appetite complains of their health, it is sometimes sarcastically said that he seems to have the bannock-hive, from bannock (an oatcake) and hive, swelling.