Dear Crabby

For as long as I can remember one of my little pleasures is to check out Dear Abby in the local rag. In the age of the Internet, more often than not, I look at the column online. The Thanksgiving Day column was the obligatory "be thankful for our troops in Iraq", which is fine because it's not their fault they've been conned into service for the Halliburtons of the world. The next letter is from a writer who complained about door-to-door salespeople and religious types interrupting her life by knocking at inopportune times. She almost earned my sympathy until I re-read this part:

My problem, Abby, is this happens all the time. I live in a new subdivision...

Okay, you live in a starter castle aka mcmansion and you wonder why you're a target?! Duh! Flaunt your credit worthiness and peeps will flock to your door and phone in search of your pocket change. Notice I used the phrase credit worthiness and not the word wealth? These peeps seem to think that if they buy essentially what amounts to the innards of a double wide trailer then they'll be granted the privileges of those who actually have money. Please. They wouldn't know wealthy if it bit them on the ass.

The quote of the day is about Tom Cruise who recently bought a sonogram machine as he awaits the arrival of satan's spawn. In a recent interview he discussed the finer points of Scientology's promotion of silent child birth, here's the MSN gossip columnist's take..."'Cause when you're looking for "calm and quiet," you want the guy who screamed "I'm in love" while wantonly abusing Oprah's furniture standing right by your side."


file photo courtesy of Mike Rite