Messy Jesse

You have to give biker/jerk Jesse James this much:

He has done something that didn’t seem possible: He has topped Tiger Woods on the Ickiness Scale.

Jesse, of course, has become infamous lately for shaming wife Sandra Bullock with a series of sleazy affairs.

While ol’ Jess may not have been able to beat Tiger in the numbers game – and who could match a pro athlete’s stamina? – he made it up (sort of) by choosing quality over quantity. As in low quality.

First came the report that Mistress No. 1 was Michelle McGee, a skank who has as many tattoos as him.

(Maybe that’s what attracted him to her. Then again, maybe the fact that she was a woman was enough. Jesse doesn’t seem too picky.)

Anyhow, a photo soon surfaced of Michelle decked out in Nazi gear.

Charming. (Not.)

What could be worse? How about a photo surfacing of Jesse decked out in Nazi gear?
Now that’s ickiness squared.

This does seem like a low point in the tale, but I guess we shouldn't underestimate cheating hounds and the tramps they run with.

Whatever happens, however, it’s hard to wonder what a seemingly normal person like Sandra Bullock was thinking when she agreed to marry this obvious dirtbag.

If she comes out of this mess with her sanity and without an STD, she should consider herself very lucky.

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Political prayers?

Finally, prayers for politicians.

If you’re tired of praying for peace, salvation and other big-picture goals, you can lower your sights. Way down.

The Church of England has created special “prayers to help confused and cynical voters ahead of Britain's upcoming election.”

A typical one reads, "Help me not to be cynical about politics and politicians, help me to remember that my vote can make a difference."

It’s about time. And we need it on this side of the pond too. May I suggest:

“Dear Lord: Please lower my taxes to almost nothing and bless our town with a spiffy new six-lane highway.”

“Dear Lord: Please give us senators who can keep their hands out of the pockets of lobbyists, their eyes on the challenges of health care and their you-know-whats away from interns.”

“Dear Lord: Please make those idiots in the other party as smart as the geniuses in my party.” (Applicable to Democrats and Republicans.)

“Dear Lord: Please enlighten more people about the evils of gambling ... after I hit the big jackpot on Powerball.”

And finally:

“Dear Lord: Please direct me to the church safely this Easter Sunday. It is so hard to remember where it is from last Christmas.”

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Surprise! Or not

It’s happened again: Another non-surprise is treated as, well, some kind of surprise.

The latest shocker? Singer Ricky Martin is gay.

To anyone who knew a smattering about pop culture, this is not news. Even before Ricky came out, the rumors had been out there for years.

It was just like the questions that surrounded other gay stars before they decided to be straightforward about not being straight.

There’s been an epidemic of that lately – not stars coming out but bombshells that turn out to be firecrackers.

Like the report the other day that Michael Jackson’s home was chock-full of skin-lightener creams.

Duh. Did anyone actually think his ghost-like complexion was natural?

Even though M.J. periodically denied those questions before died, anyone with an I.Q. larger than his shoe size knew he was lying.

Ditto for slugger Mark McGwire’s recent confession that he used steroids. Double-duh. Who thought he naturally had arms the size of legs?

In case you’re a bit naïve, I’d like to go ahead and spill the beans on some other things you may have been wondering about:

-- Republicans really do want President Obama to fail.

-- President Obama really didn’t want to work with the GOP on health care.

-- Texas Rangers manager Ron Washington was lying when he said he only did coke once after failing a drug test last year.

-- Simon Cowell isn’t really as means as he seems on “Idol.” It’s an act designed to pump up ratings. (Paula Abdul, unfortunately, was as ditzy as she appeared.)

-- When an actor or pro athlete says, “It isn’t about the money,” it’s about the money.

... That’s all for now; I don’t want to give anyone more than he can digest at one time.

Besides, Sunday is fast approaching, and there’s something you really need to know about the Easter Bunny.

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Bizarre books

So what was the nuttiest-but-real book title of the year?

None other than "Crocheting Adventures with Hyperbolic Planes."

But you probably knew that. Heck, you may even have the manuscript in your home library (assuming you have a home and a library).

The competition was the annual Diagram Prize in Britain. The only rule is that the book title has to be real, not something goofy like "What Kind of Bean is This Chihuahua?"

OK, my bad. That was a runner-up this year, along with "Collectible Spoons of the Third Reich."

At least the last one makes some sense. It follows "Collectible Forks of the Third Reich" and "Collectible Knives of the Third Reich."

It is nice to know, I guess, that some authors have really wacky titles for their books.

Then again, the less I know about "Living With Crazy Buttocks," the better.

I suppose the ultimate would be if one of these bizarre books began, “It was a dark and stormy night.”

Then it could qualify for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Prize, which is given to the most wretched sentence or paragraph penned in the English language over the course of a year.

… And we wonder why the kids these days don’t read anymore.

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Go directly to (kid) jail

Some things just don’t mix, like oil and water.

Or kids’ playgrounds and fake jails.

Incredibly, however, that’s exactly what was going on in New York City, of all places -- by a public housing project, of all places again.

The other day a mom noticed the fake jail and complained. The Housing Authority bureaucrats, ever responsive, promptly fixed the problem.

They removed the word “jail” and took out the fake bars.

Good. We hope no toddlers were traumatized.

But it does seem odd, almost suggesting that kids were gonna end up in the clink at some time in their lives.

However, here’s the really interesting part about the whole story:

The playground was installed ... way back in 2004.

For six long years, nobody complained about the fake jail – or maybe even noticed it. The city even found a second fake jail at another playground.

That’s a minor miracle in a society where taking offense has been raised to an art form.

It also should rule out any lawsuits for emotional distress. (Darn the luck!)

As for the kids, they’ll probably go back to doing what kids have done for generations: Playing for the sheer joy of playing.

Heck, when the grownups aren’t looking, they might even sneak in a game of cops and robbers.

Shhhh.

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Lazy robbers!

It’s happened again: another outbreak of lazy criminals.

What is happening to this once-great land of ours?

In the latest affront to all that is decent, a couple of bank robbers in Fairfield, Conn., called ahead so the employees would have a bag of money ready!

Sweet Mother of Pearl.

What are they teaching the punks these days in Crime 101?

A bank is not like a pizza joint. You don’t phone in an order ahead of time. Especially an illegal one, like robbery.

In the good ol’ days, crooks had the gumption to plan their crimes beforehand, do the leg work, case the joint and then pull the job without taking the easy way out.

Was it harder? Sure, but they had the satisfaction from knowing they gave their all for a job well-done.

A police officer said the clowns in this caper – who were caught, of course – were “not too bright.”

Duh. You could add “not too energetic.”

I hope the judge throws the book at ’em.

If there’s any justice in this world, they will spend the next 10 to 20 years turning big rocks into small rocks.

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Put down the nuclear reactor and slowly back away

Microsoft genius Bill Gates is a nice guy. A little nerdy, but nice.

But I still wouldn’t give him a nuclear reactor.

And this, unfortunately, is what Billy and the Japanese company Toshiba are planning to do.

This is like letting little kids play with matches; nothing good can come from it.

Think about it: Bill Gates, smartest and richest man in the world, teaming up with a computer giant like Toshiba.

That’s scary enough. Give this dynamic duo a nuke, and I think they could pretty much take over the world.

Far-fetched? Don't be naive.

A spokesman for Toshiba said the two sides had just begun to "exchange information" but stressed that "nothing concrete has been decided on development or investment."

Of course not. When you’re planning to take over the world, you don’t tip your hand. Anyone who has watched Dr. Evil in the Austin Powers movies knows this.

The people of planet earth must nip this little scheme in the bud.

I don’t want my kids to grow up in a world where Microsoft is the only legal software and all men must have goofy Bill Gates-style haircuts.

… Actually, I could live with Microsoft and the endless glitches. The haircuts, however, are a different thing. Ick.

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Keep Tiger talking

Tiger Woods has finally done something right.

And no, I am not talking about his latest confession.

He finally dumped spin-doctor Ari Fleischer.

Ari, for those sports fans who don’t get out too often, was the press secretary for President Bush.

As such, he perfected the political art of saying nothing while pretending to say everything – and even sounding sincere about it.

We do not need this from Tiger.

We need him to talk like a golfer, not a governor.

We need all the sleazy details on his sordid life. We need names, dates and locations. Then more of them.

We do not want a bland “mistakes were made” statement released through a spokesman.

That’s what politicians do when they are caught with a staff member or intern (or a goat in the back forty).

Tiger supposedly cut Ari loose because "his very presence gave the impression that (he) was being stage-managed in his return to the public eye."

Duh. Now why would people think that?

With Ari out of the way, Tiger is now free to spill his guts on his secret life.

And given the number of his, uh, girlfriends and some of the weird text messages he sent, sports fans should be entertained – I mean informed – for a long time to come.

Tiger, you may now play through!

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Surprise, surprise: Octomom needs cash

Poor Octomom needs cash again.

She is way behind in her house payments – about a half-million behind – and needs to get some Benjamins.

No telling how she got into this bind. Then again, it could have something to WITH HAVING A FOOTBALL TEAM OF CHILDREN without any visible means of support. Or even a hubby to bring home a paycheck now and then.

Anyhoo, to get through this little jam, she’s making the following options available to her fans, or even people who hate her:

$25, picture of you with her.

$50, autographed picture of you with her.

$75, authentic diaper from Octomom baby.

$100, autographed T-shirt that says, “I visited Octomom and all I got was this lousy shirt.”

If this doesn’t work out, she’s thinking of letting you legally adopt any or all of the kids -- for a hefty finder’s fee, of course.

Outrageous? Crass? Inhumane?

Would you expect anything else from her?

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Marriage material

There’s such a thing as being too organized.

Like the Japanese school that teaches students how to find marriage material.

As the news story puts it, “The Infini school offers various classes for wannabe brides and grooms at a time when many people in Japan are either shunning the institution of marriage or are finding it very difficult to hook up with a partner.

“The school … teaches students how to talk, walk and present themselves elegantly in a bid to capture the hearts and minds of prospective partners and their parents. ...”

Has it come to this?

Don’t the old-fashioned ways of snaring a mate work any more? Such as going to an ice-cream social (if you’re the straight-laced type) or a rowdy bar (if you walk on the wild side).

At this marriage academy, “students also simulate dates, during which their instructors grade their performance and point out what they did wrong.”

Wow. I can hear it now: “Guys, belching during the meal and asking if the lady wants to go Dutch on the bill do not point you in the right direction.”

And the ladies may not be much better. One young lass said, "I'm looking for a man who makes more than $110,000 a year, doesn't ask me to live with his parents and takes good care of me."

Duh! And guys want rich gals who look like movie stars!

Good luck, grads. May you find your soulmate -- or at least save a few bucks at tax time by finding someone you can file a joint return with.

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Oh, by the way, sorry about that

Of all the ways to go: Being killed while jogging on a beach by an airplane making a crash landing.

That’s tough. Even more unfortunate were the comments by the pilot – who survived the collision, unlike the jogger.

The story, briefly: Malfunctioning airplane – actually a kit-built job – has to land on the beach near Hilton Head, S.C.

So the pilot puts her down – right on the jogger, unfortunately.

OK, we have an accident here. The pilot didn’t want to flatten the jogger, and landing a disabled plane has to be hairy. (See Capt. Sully, Hero of the Hudson.)

But after the crash, pilot Ed Smith had some strange priorities:

"I've got a lot of issues going on right now," Smith said. "I've got a plane that's all torn up. And I've got a young man that I killed."

Did you catch that: Plane first, dead man second. Hello?

This wasn’t just a bad day for the jogger, Robert Jones. It was his last day, through no fault of his own.

And in the same vein, the president of the company that manufactured the plane “called the landing ‘miraculous’ given the damage to it, but also expressed sorrow at the deadly outcome.”

Again, plane first, dead man second.

Somehow, I think the family and friends of the late Robert Jones will place the order differently.

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Bye-bye, bayonets.

The times, they are a-changin’:

The U.S. Army will stop training its recruits how to use bayonets.

Holy chow hall! This is the biggest shift in our military training since G.I.s stopped learning how to say in German or Japanese, “Put down your guns, you filthy sons of pigs; we have you surrounded!”

Generation after generation of draftees and enlisted men have learned how to wield carefully sharpened bayonets with skill and daring. Or at least enough to pass the basic training course, be loaded onto a ship or plane and dumped in a war zone.

No longer will eager recruits charge straw-filled dummies with fixed bayonets yelling “Yaaaaa!” or “Take that, ya lousy Commie!”

Instead, that time will be devoted to debating the benefits of Myspace vs. Facebook and when it is proper to Tweet during firefights.

I s’pose it had to happen. But the banishing of bayonets calls to mind a strange bit of wisdom from the “Humor in Uniform” section in Readers Digest many years ago.

It seems that a grizzled sergeant (aren’t they all?) was instructing his green recruits in the art of bayonet warfare.

Sarge casually mentioned that if you stuck your rifle’s bayonet into, uh, an enemy soldier’s body and it, ahem, didn’t want to come out easily, don't panic.

Simply fire a round from your rifle, and the recoil would help you pull the bayonet out.

One of the young recruits, wise beyond his years, drawled, “Sarge, if I got a round left in the rifle, I ain’t gonna use the bayonet.”

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Bikers gone wild

Think the recovery is real?

Hah! The recession still rules, as proved by the boom in bicycle-related crimes from criminals who apparently can’t afford cars.

In Beaumont, the cops had to pull over one of these desperadoes last week.

And it was not a piece-of-cake traffic stop. The biker in question was allegedly packin’ drugs and “fought with officers to the point that an officer needs assistance call was put out.”

Wow; that is one tough two-wheeler!

Speaking of which, in Port Neches the robbers have now been reduced to riding bicycles.

This very morning, a biker knocked off the Dollar General and sped away on a Schwinn (or a reasonable facsimile thereof.)

Now that is embarrassing. Why couldn’t the cops catch him? Did their cars run out of gas thanks to budget cuts from this nagging recession?

If things get worse, robbers may have to downsize from cars to bikes to their feet and just run off after pulling a heist.

If it gets that bad, maybe stores should be allowed to keep dogs that could run down the bad guy and hold on to his ankle until some cop could ’cuff him.

… By the way: Willie Sutton famously robbed banks because that’s where the money is. Why would someone take down a Dollar General?

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Please, not another 'Real Housewives' show!

Just what we need; a fifth spinoff of “The Real Housewives of (fill in the blank).”

Is this a great country or what?

Some people thought that one of these monstrosities – the “Real Housewives of Orange County” – was enough.

No such luck.

It was soon followed by the “Real Housewives of Atlanta,” ad nauseum, and now the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

This, I believe, is too much of a good thing. Actually, too much of a bad thing.

If you haven’t had the pleasure, the people on the “Real Housewives” franchise are shallow, vain and uber-materialistic, devoid of real thoughts but overloaded with plastic surgery.

They make the rest of the characters on TV look like the clan on “The Waltons.”

Could it be worse? Yes.

All future episodes of the “Real Housewives” will be shot in high def.

Now we can get super detail on all the places on their suntanned, pampered bodies where silicone has been inserted and wrinkles have been removed.

I think I’ll pass on the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

There has to be something better on, like maybe a special on The History Channel on the many uses of soybeans.

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Snail slime

Whatever happened to the good ol’ days when druggies were content to smoke a joint or snort a line?

Now some pinheads in Florida are swallowing snail snot.

No, that is not a misprint and you are not in a not a drug-induced hallucination. (At least I think you aren’t.)

Snail snot. (Or mucus, if you wanna be fancy.)

And not just any snail. We’re talking Giant African Snails that can grow up to 10 inches long and even eat plaster!

Ick.

You couldn’t pay me to get close to something that disgusting. But some Jim Jones-type has convinced his gullible followers to “do the goo” and, like, see God or something.

Only instead of achieving cosmic enlightenment, they were getting “violently ill, losing weight and developing strange lumps in their stomachs.”

Duh!

The first two are bad enough, but the “lumps in their stomachs” thing will really keep you up at night.

Haven’t any of these morons seen actor John Hurt's eating scene in the first Alien movie?

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Ooh lah lah!

We have long known that the rich are not like you and me.

Now we can add that the French are quite different too. As in, both the French president and his wife are having affairs!

Sacre bleu! And we thought we had something goin’ on when a president was dallying with an intern.

In France, that wouldn’t even budge the meter.

The latest gossip from that strange land across the pond is that the French president (who has a very unFrench name in Nicholas Sarkozy) and his wife, former mega-hot model Carla Bruni, are, uh, violating their marriage vows.

Well, that is, if they even bothered to take ’em.

Nick strayed from his first wife with a woman who later became his second wife. Even then, he took a walk on the wild side and divorced her after another affair. (Or two or three; hell, who’s counting?)

And his latest diversion is a female karate champ, which is doubly dangerous. Cheese her off, and you just might get a well-placed kick in a place that could hamper your future extracurricular activities.

As for wife Carla, no surprise there either. She once famously said, “Monogamy is boring.” And in her model days, she once posed for a photo without many clothes on. (Actually, none at all!)

And she has already had affairs with – check out this combo! – famous studs like Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton and Donald Trump. Can you believe The Donald is in that bunch!

I’d exclaim “sacre bleu!” but I already did and it’s the only French exclamation I know. (Actually, I don’t even know what it means, but I do know it’s a French exclamation.)

Whatever. What can you expect from a nation that gave its name to the French kiss?

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Ice, ice baby

It’s nice to know that some families still have their priorities right.

Like the granny who camped out at a certain location for 43 hours to make sure her little grandson got what he wanted.

How heartwarming.

Was it a slot in a prestigious school?

Or maybe a chance to apply for a coveted job?

How about an opportunity to do something exotic, like take a cruise around the world?

Uh, no, no and no.

Granny plopped down her behind ... so her grandson could place the first order at a new ice cream store.

And we wonder why we are being out-hustled and out-innovated by other nations.

I just hope that if some country is going to attack us, they have the decency to give us a little notice so we can get ready.

Or at least think about what to do while we pack our mouths with ice cream.

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Going ape

Some day in the not-too-distant future when your child asks you why the federal government is broke, you can say:

“ 'Cause we spent all the money on stupid things like monkey research back in 2010.”

It’s true, taxpayers. $71,623 in stimulus funds is being used to basically study what happens to monkeys when they get high on cocaine.

(As with people, they dance a lot and talk too much.)

A critic called it one of the "10 worst federal stimulus projects in North Carolina." I would hate to see the other nine.

As an expert in monkey behavior – well, I have watched a bunch of National Geographic specials on TV – I can tell you that monkeys are not that mysterious.

They eat too fast like teenagers, yell too loud like sports fans and groom too much like beauty salon regulars.

In other words, they’re just like us, only with more hair.

And at least we can be house-trained.

Uncle Sam ought to take back the 71 grand and spend it on something more worthwhile, which is basically anything else.

I would suggest 10 college scholarships for veterans.

If that’s too simple and we want to “create jobs,” how about two more full-time pruners for the cherry blossom trees in D.C.?

If any monkeys want a piece of this action, they can be unpaid interns.

Remember all this when you’re filing your tax return and getting ready to write that check. ... Your tax dollars at work … or not!

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Put down the chewing gum and slowly step away

Thank God a few people still have standards in this crazy mixed-up world.

I refer, of course, to the courageous city-state of Singapore and its principled decision to continue its ban on chewing gum.

As I told the rest of the old farts at the club, “Here, here! … A round of gin and tonics for all the chaps!”

Good Lord; if you allow chewing gum you open the door to whistling and humming. By then you might as well jump into bed with Satan.

No such slacking in Singapore. And if they catch you with something in your mouth that isn’t food (please, no snarky comments) you might get a good caning like that American punk did a few years back.

The thing is, if you let people just pop a stick of chewing gum into their jaws any time they want, they’ll get other uppity ideas too.

Best to nip it in the bud from the get-go and remind everyone who’s large and in charge.

And if they don’t like it? Well, they can go to North Korea, which is exactly like Singapore except that the people are poor and starving.

Chewing gum; the very idea!

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Fear of flying

We’ve all heard there is no free lunch.

Now, there is apparently no free legroom either.

Starting later this month, Continental Airlines plans to charge extra for coach customers who want a seat with more legroom.

And it won’t be cheap, either.

Extra legroom on a Houston-New York flight will set you back 59 bucks.

Good grief! And you get only 7 more inches of space for laying out all that cash. It’s not like you could camp out or anything.

What could be worse? Try some of these other proposed extra charges that airlines are considering:

-- Permission to unbuckle your seat belt after takeoff, $5.

-- 10 extra sheets of toilet paper, $10.

-- Plastic knife and fork to eat your in-flight meal with, $25.

-- Seating change after finding yourself between two 300-pound passengers, $50.

-- Seating change after finding yourself next to a passenger who gets airsick a lot, $100.

-- Parachute to rent when plane has lost all power and is falling like a brick, $1 million.

… And no, they don’t take checks for that last one.

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Middle school Mayday

The kids these days; what are you gonna do with ’em?

I don’t have the answer to that age-old question, but I do know you should not let them serve as air traffic controllers!

Incredibly, that apparently happened at JFK Airport last month. A controller let his kid make life-or-death decisions for a few minutes, just for laughs.

In one exchange, a child can be heard saying, "JetBlue 171 contact departure."

Then his dad comes on the mike and says with a laugh, "That's what you get, guys, when the kids are out of school."

Fun-nee! I laughed til I died!

This is the Doogie Howser syndrome run amuck. Sure, he could be a TV doctor, but would you want him doing a real-life brain transplant on you?

(I know; the answer depends on whose brain you were getting.)

Look, some kids mature early.

Mozart, for example, was composing at age 5 and performing before European royalty.

That’s why his playground nickname was “Amazin’ Amadeus.”

On the other hand, the Last Emperor took over the throne of China at age 3 and went on to end a thousand-year dynasty. (Hey, who’s perfect?)

I say let the kids have fun while they’re little and stay away from Important Jobs. They can screw things up when they’re older.

That was our career path, wasn’t it?

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TV time tonight

When you aren’t trolling our bodacious Web site for the latest election news tonight, flip over to KBMT-12 to see yours truly providing commentary from 6 to 10:30.

I’ll be chipping in as anchors Kevin Steele and Jackie Simeon report on the returns as they roll in. Check us out; we’re going to have a political party!

… Oh, and if you’re reading this before 7 and you haven’t voted, put down the Cheetos, haul you %$#@ carcass off the sofa and git r done.

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From cool Vancouver to ... sucky Sochi?

The winter Olympics are over, and the Russians are red.

Not commie red. (That’s so ’80s.) Angry red.

You see, Russia is a vast frozen wasteland not good for much except nuclear missile bases and winter sports.

So usually, at the Winter Olympics, the Russians are a true superpower. This go-around, they looked like the Dallas Cowboys in a playoff game.

The Russians won only 15 medals – with just three golds. That’s one of their worst performances since Boris Yeltsin was sober.

And they’re not happy about it.

Russian leader Dmitry Medvedev moaned that Russia “ has lost the old Soviet school ... and we haven't created our own school.”

There you go again, Dmitry, pining for the good ol’ days of steroids ’n’ gulags. Get with the program, comrade!

The Russkies especially need to turn around their Olympic program because in four years they’re hosting.

And already, people are predicting another disaster – and not just in the medal count.

The reason is that the games will be in Sochi, a resort town in southern Russia on the Black Sea.

How southern? Real southern. You can’t go much further south in Russia before winding up in Armenia.

Unlike most of Russia, Sochi is not a frozen wasteland. Fact is, it’s kind of sunny. Sort of like Miami with a bunch of bad cars on the streets and fat people on the sidewalks.

"It would be very hard to find a place in Russia that has no snow in the wintertime, but that's just what (Vladimir) Putin did," said Boris Nemtsov, a former deputy prime minister and Sochi native.

"Sochi is the warmest place in Russia, with no infrastructure, no experience in winter sports – it doesn't even have a hockey team – and many other problems."

And one of those problems is corruption, with a capital C.

Hoo-boy. I can hardly wait for these winter Olympics: Balmy with a chance of bribery.

Let the games begin.

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