You're All Being Glib

I don't know what it is, but for some reason I haven't felt any need to comment on Tom Cruise lately. I think his actions speak for themselves, and I fear that if I were to even begin addressing all of the fun and wacky stuff he says, does, thinks, eats, impregnates, etc., I would end up writing a thirty page blog where my cranium actually explodes at the end, and I can't have that. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get my hair to look like this?

That being said, I am limiting myself to one issue: The Sonogram Machine.

In case you hadn't heard, Tom purchased an ultrasound machine for his home so he, Dr. Demento, can monitor the progress of his immaculate conception with that chick who used to be on Dawson's Creek (as well as the same plane of existence as the rest of us Earth creatures). Why, I can't imagine anything healthier for a fetus than being constantly bombarded by sound waves at the hand of Ol' Crazy Britches! You can relax, though. He's more than qualified. I'm sure we all remember Days of Thunder.

Speaking of thunder thighs, The Freakin' Hott is in the midst of cd pressing, so you can come on down to The Marlin Hotel in South Beach on December 28th to pick up your copy and ogle Will Smith as he dines next door. Free show, you cheapass.

Maggie