I Loves Me Some Betty Bowers

And the special Halloween/Election edition of the B.B. newsletter. Praise Jesus.

And I Thought Jeffrey Was Bad

Woe is me. I am simply floundering in a world bereft of useful television commercials to guide my daily purchases and food choices. What's a girl to do? Where have all the tampons gone? All the fast food and household disinfectant? E.D., anyone? Did the need for Viagra suddenly vanish? Apparently we the people are expected to make our buying decisions on our own while all our typically helpful and instructive ad time is taken up by Heather and "Mrs. Madrid" (as Rep. Wilson likes to call her).

OK, I jest a little, but seriously, how much more of this can we handle? November 7th is a full week away, and those of us with a television habit risk permanent cerebral damage. Listening to Wilson is torture (something those of her party certainly embrace, so no surprise there), akin to playing a speech by Worf in his native Klingon, backwards (and with something really slimy in his throat - a couple of large oysters, perhaps). But worse. So much worse. It's bad television, for sure. If the whole thing weren't so darn scary it would almost be amusing.

Please, New Mexico, don't subject the world to another term.

So Much for Unraveling the Frilly Neck Script

But can't you just picture Your Mom in that little green and white striped number?

Better Hurry

Frozen custard like no other... should inspire one and all to boldly go where no tastebuds have gone before. You first.

See?

Too old to update.