If everybody hates you no matter what you do, eventually you learn to act out against all the judgmental pricks who look at you as if you were somehow beneath them. If they think you are a prick, you show them what a real prick is. If they think you are ugly, you show them what real ugliness is. If they think you are untouchable, you get in their face every chance you get. You rub it in real good until their repulsion overwhelms them.
I state categorically -- and with increasing pride as the years go by -- that I voted for the winning presidential candidate in the 2000 election. My guy just wasn't allowed to take office. I mean Al Gore, of course. Now, I wasn't all that thrilled with Gore when I voted for him, but I was a damn sight more excited about him than Dubya the Decider, the Liar, the Idiot.
Today, I feel even better about my 2000 vote and believe that Al Gore is could be the kind of leader America needs. That could be an illusion though. Any number of men and women COULD be good leaders but fail miserably due to the pressures of holding political office. At least I believe in Gore's basic integrity, intelligence, ethics and morality.
I hope he runs again in 2008 and his book and film "An Inconvenient Truth" are part of the reason why. Look here for what Arianna Huffington has to say on the matter.
"I grew up in the 80s, so I'm pretty much about Rock n Roll." - some shit I heard
some wanker spout
Really? Because the 80s weren't. Punk, new wave, the end of disco. The 60s and 70s were more about pure rock than the 80s. So fuck off with that ignorance.
I don't know why every asswipe on the planet has to romanticize the 80s. Fuck me for saying so, but the 80s sucked ... hard. We had an actor for president pushing trickle-down laisse faire economics disregarding the laws in the Iran-Contra affair, MTV pushing the lowest common denominator, apartheid ignored, AIDS ignored, increased homelesness, fucking yuppies, the death of caring, the exultation of greed ... the 80s were shit. It was a time for pigs and the only people who think otherwise are people with no meaningful recollection.
One morning last week I woke up in my own bed. I didn't find myself any place unusual. I had the covers over my head, my feet sticking out from my dirty white sheets ... just like it should be. When I looked out my bedroom window onto the driveway, there was a red Chrysler parked there.
That's not my car, I thought.
There was a note tucked under the driver's side wiper and when I went outside to see what it said I noticed that the handwriting was pretty familiar.
"Car broke down. Will be right back to pick it up. Sorry for the inconvenience. Thanks." No name, no phone number. Just handwriting that looked like it could have been mine. It was printed and in a hurry too. It might have been someone else's. I Just couldn't be sure. I figured I'd give myself or whoever left this car here the benefit of the doubt.
For two days the car went nowhere. I was thinking about calling the cops to check out the plates, but what if the car was used in some crime. I might be blamed for it. Did I even touch the car? I looked in the tinted window and saw a skull in the backseat. It was probably plastic, but what kind of freak drives around with a skull -- real or fake -- in their car?
Two days later, the Chrysler was gone. No note. No skull. I didn't see anyone take it. Didn't hear anything unusual. Don't know where it went or who took it.
Darla was pissed that I didn't tell her about the car when she could have had the chance to break into it to look around. Not really pissed mind you, just sort of fake disappointed pissed and whiny like some grand opportunity for excitement and adventure had been squandered by my total lack of guts and imagination. Truth is, I probably would have told her about it if she'd answered her phone that week.
It's always feast or famine with this chick, but not the good kind of feast. No, Darla's attention was more like eating three plates of sweet and sour chicken at the Chinese buffet and topping it off with a bowl of really cheap ice milk. The whole thing was worth about five bucks without the drink.
Terry had a magnificent head of long feathered shoulder length hair. It was the hair of an angel circa 1979. It was the kind of hair that looked really great riding his kid's Huffy down the street with a cigarette in mouth, a 30-pack of Lite bobbing up and down on his left knee and his favorite Kansas concert T-shirt stuffed into his back pocket.
"I'm gonna get that kid a new bike for Christmas. Something a little bigger. He's a little too old for this one," he thought, aluminum bullets of malted hops and barley going up and down on his left knee like a soon-to-be-drunk merry-go-round.
Terry was a regular sight on the mean streets. He lost his license drinking and driving. There was no way he was gonna give up beer though. No one could make him do that. As humiliating as it might be to ride a child's bike in broad daylight, it was the price he paid to keep drinking. Assholes would honk at him and he'd ignore them or flip them off depending on his mood. No one likes to be made fun of, but it was almost worth it when he'd get home and pop the tab on that first still cold smooth brew. Ahhhhh.
One night, Darla had me follow Terry at a discreet distance so we could find out where he was going. Terry was in my graduating class and in his day had been King of the Greasers. He gave Matt Dillon a run for his money. To this day he had a very lean body due no doubt to years of smoking and spending all his money on beer instead of food and child support. Darla thought he was hot in a "dirt baggy sort of way" and I think it really got her motor running to have me participate in her strange stalking behavior. She knew I was no eunich who served her whims without getting emotionally or at least hormonally involved. I participated because it was the best I could get and I hoped that one day I could turn this skanky behavior to my advantage.
The only smart thing to do would have been to cut her off, but that wasn't as easy as it should have been. I'd get some desperate call at three in the morning about some crisis or other and it made me feel needed and important to her.
So there I was driving down the street, circling the block occasionally, avoiding the notice of a guy I went to school with who just might wonder -- if he ever noticed me -- why the fuck I was tailing him. Luckily, his mind was on beer. Terry was peddling his way to the Drugtown where, apparently, the most beer could be had for the least amount of money. There were closer places to buy beer, after all. Terry seemed to have his priorities.
"Oh my God, he's so hot. I want him to stroke the kitty," Darla said to no one in particular and me. "Take me you greasy bastard."
Darla would occasionally get these obsessions with guys who were otherwise just not in her usual circle of acquaintances. In a man, these moments would play themselves in a few minutes with a woman sighted only once and briefly. If it were the girl at the convenience store, we might like running into her every time we went in there. We might even come on to her and tell our friends about her. But we certainly wouldn't make our female friends drive us around following her. To be fair, most women wouldn't have their guy friends do that either.
But Darla was operating on a different level. Not a higher level. Not a spiritual level. No, Darla was just eager to see what would happen. How much of this would I put up with? I was kind of curious about that myself.
It blows my mind that anyone would be stupid enough to think there is some sort of conspiracy out there by anyone besides the rich and powerful to control all our fates. What exactly would the incentive be for anyone left of the dial to control opinion and skew public opinion? The left isn't getting rich. Patchouli stocks aren't gonna skyrocket if everyone suddenly goes anti-war. The bolts on Al Gore's neck won't light up when everyone sees what a fucking tool George W. Bush really is.
Just watch network news shows and tell me the kind of fluff they run isn't a right wing wet dream? Katie Couric isn't going to be asking any tough questions of the president any time soon. She wasn't picked because she's a darling of the left, I can assure you of that.
There are good reporters in this country who do their job, but you will never see them headlining a news program. Seymour Hersch, Helen Thomas and Eric Alterman are all way too ugly and busy working to fart around on TV. The American public will sit an watch The Today Show mess about and then still complain about liberal bias in the media.
My country is full of retards. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be an American, I'm just ashamed of most of the people who can say the same thing.
The Maytag plant in Newton, IA will be closing in 2007 and it is a shame. There aren't a lot of homegrown Iowa products and companies out there any more and Maytag appliances were a national icon that meant quality. Like everything else in this world, the company was for sale and Whirpool bought it. They will gut the company in order to own the brand, but a part of Iowa history is ending.
Even worse is 1,800 good paying jobs are being lost. This will have a drastic effect on the Newton economy but the state of Iowa will suffer as well. State resources are being funneled into the area to help workers file claims for unemployment and other benefits as well as in finding other jobs. Some of these workers will no doubt be moving out the state to find work, while others will be stuck flipping burgers if they're lucky.
The really sad thing is that for years, Newton and Maytag apparently did all they could to keep Newton a Maytag town. Companies like Vermeer that offered the workforce some choice were shut out. Now workers have no options but to scramble for lower wage jobs or move away from their hometown. It's sad and inevitable in the current market where workers are just another part of the bottom line equation and not part of the reason for a company to be in business in the first place.
At least they still have Maytag Blue Cheese.
Funny observation here. No matter where you go, there is always a clique. This makes sense in high school because children are basically animals. But when you get to a Fortune 500 company, you expect something a little different. That is foolishness though. I'm not sure what would go through the minds of a bunch of 20 and 30 something phone monkeys to make them think they are sitting at the cool table, but they certainly do. They have the keys to the social kingdom and they insist on deciding who should and should not be allowed in. It's a fucking joke if I've ever seen one and believe me I have. When you are new, though, you tend to buy into it. Not me. I'll keep to myself and talk to those few people who are enlightened enough to not give a damn about playing king of the very small hill.
Wednesday night, Stephen Colbert combined two of my favorite things into one big hilarious thing. One is himself and two is Nebraska bashing. In his segment, Better Know a District, Colbert examined Nebraska's Second District, The Fightin' Second, which boasts such achievements as the tallest building between Minneapolis and Denver, meat in a box and a large telecommunications industry becaue people in Omaha have an accent like they are from nowhere... which is partially true, said Colbert.
Then he interviewed Congressman Lee Terry about hydrogen being the alternative fuel choice of Nazis. I've met Lee Terry. He seemed much more frumpishly Midwestern in this interview than in person.
Well, I'll be God damned if former Nebraska head coach Tom Osbourne did NOT win the Republican primary for governor. I thought Nebraskans were just stupid enough to vote for the guy who did such a good job with the Huskers that he must be able to run the state of Nebraska.
He did however lose by only six points to current governor Dave Heineman so this really is a have my cake and eat it too moment. To wit, these people are stupid enough to vote for a former college football coach in numbers large enough to make it a close call for the incumbent who has, by most accounts, done an OK job.
Stephen Colbert performed at this year's National Correspondent's Dinner in Washington, D.C. This was a great SNAFU on someone's part. Colbert has been using satire to do the job of America's press since last October.
Of course, Colbert didn't play ball. He didn't soften his approach to the president and the press, if anything, he turned it up a notch. In repsonse, his performance has been completely ignored by the main stream media in favor of covering some lame presidential twin routine. Colbert didn't kill in comedy terms. His audience was like deer in headlights. But this performance is an important example of speaking truth to power. After all, there just isn't anything funny about going to war in Iraq whether you support it or not.
Here is a corrected transcript of Colbert's performance. It might be a bit rough, but it gets the job done ... unlike America's press.
Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Before I begin, I've been asked to make an
announcement. Whoever parked 14 black bullet proof SUVs out front, could you
please move them. They are blocking in 14 other black bulletproof SUVs and
they need to get out.
Wow, wow, what an honor. The White House
correspondents’ dinner. To just sit here, at the same table with my hero, George
W. Bush, to be this close to the man. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch
me. You know what; I'm a pretty sound sleeper that may not be enough. Somebody
shoot me in the face. Is he really not here tonight? The one guy who could have
helped.
By the way, before I get started, if anybody needs anything at
their tables, speak slowly and clearly into your table numbers and somebody
from the NSA. Will be right over with a cocktail.
Mrs. Smith, ladies and gentlemen of the press corps,
Mr. President and first lady, my name is
Stephen Colbert and it’s my privilege tonight to celebrate our president. We're
no so different, he and I. We get it. We're not brain backs on the nerd patrol.
We're not members of the Factanista. We go straight from the gut, right sir?
That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut.
Do you know you have more nerve endings
in your gut than you have in your head? You can look it
up. I know some of you are going to say I did look it up, and that’s not true.
That's because you looked it up in a book. Next time look it up in your gut. I did.
My gut tells me that's how our nervous system works.Every night on my show, the Colbert Report, I speak straight from the gut, ok? I give people the truth,
unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the No Fact Zone. Fox News, I own the
copyright on that term. I'm a simple man with a simple mind, with a simple set
of beliefs that I live by.
Number one, I believe in America. I believe it exists.
My gut tells me I live there. I feel that it extends from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, and I strongly believe it has 50 states. And I cannot
wait to see how “The Washington Post" spins that one tomorrow. I believe in
democracy. I believe democracy is our greatest export. At least until China
figures out a way to stamp it out in plastic for three cents a unit. In fact,
ambassador, welcome, your great country makes our happy meals possible.
I said it's a celebration.I believe the government that governs best is
the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a
fabulous government in Iraq.
I believe in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps.
I believe it is possible. I saw this guy do it once in Cirque
du Soleil. It was magical. And though I am a committed Christian, I believe that
everyone has the right to their own religion, be it Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I
believe there are infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.
Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it's yogurt. But I refuse to believe it’s
not butter. Most of all I believe in this president. Now, I know there are some
polls out there saying this man has a 32% approval rating. But guys like us; we
don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of
statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a
well-known liberal bias.
So, Mr. President, pay no attention to the people that say
the glass is half full. 32% means the glass -- it’s important to
set up your jokes properly, sir. Sir, pay no attention to the people who say the
glass is half empty, because 32% means its 2/3 empty. There's still some liquid
in that glass is my point, but I wouldn’t drink it. The last third is usually
backwash.
Folks, my point are that I don’t believe this is a low point
in this presidency. I believe it is just a lull before a comeback. I mean, it's
like the movie “Rocky." The president is Rocky and Apollo Creed is everything
else in the world. It's the 10th round. He's bloodied, his corner man, Mick, who
in this case would be the vice president, and he’s yelling cut me, Dick, cut me,
and every time he falls everyone says stay down! Does he stay down? No. Like Rocky he
gets back up and in the end he -- actually loses in the first movie.
OK, it doesn't matter. The point is the heart warming story of a man who was
repeatedly punched in the face. So don't pay attention to the approval
ratings that say 68% of Americans disapprove of the job this man is
doing. I ask you this, does that not also logically mean that 68% approve of the
job he's not doing? Think about it. I haven’t.
I stand by this man. I stand by this man because
he stands for things. Not only FOR things, has he
stood ON things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded
city squares. And that sends a strong message that no matter what happens to
America, she will always rebound with the most powerfully staged photo ops in
the world.
Now there may be an energy crisis. This president has a very
forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting
that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By
2008 we will have a mesquite-powered car.
And I just like the guy. He's a good Joe.
Obviously loves his wife, calls her his better half. And polls show
America agrees. She's a true lady and a wonderful woman. But I just have one
beef, ma’am. I'm sorry, but this reading initiative. I've never been a fan of
books. I don't trust them. They're all fact, no heart. I mean, they're elitist
telling us what is or isn't true, what did or didn't happen.
What's Britannica to tell me the Panama Canal was built in 1914? If I want to say it
was built in 1941, that's my right as an American. I'm with the president, let
history decide what did or did not happen. The greatest thing about this man is
he's steady. You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday,
that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday. Events can change,
this man’s beliefs never will.
And as excited as I am to be here with the president,
I am appalled to be surrounded by the liberal media that is
destroying America, with the exception of Fox News. Fox News gives
you both sides of every story, the president’s side and the vice president’s side.
But the rest of you, what are you thinking, reporting on NSA wiretapping or secret
prisons in Eastern Europe? Those things are secret for a very important reason:
they’re super depressing. And if that's your goal, well, misery accomplished.
Over the last five years you people were so good over tax cuts, WMD
intelligence, the affect of global warming. We Americans didn't want to know,
and you had the courtesy not to try to find out. Those were good times, as far
as we knew.
But, listen, let's review the rules. Here's how it works.
The president makes decisions, he’s the decider. The press secretary announces
those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make,
announce, type. Put them through a spell check and go home. Get to know your
family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in
your head. You know the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the
courage to stand up to the administration. You know ... fiction.
Because really, what incentive do these people have to answer your questions, after all?
I mean, nothing satisfies you. Everybody asks for personnel changes. So the
White House has personnel changes. Then you write they're just rearranging the
deck chairs on the Titanic. First of all, that is a terrible metaphor. This
ship's not sinking. This administration is soaring. If anything, they are
rearranging the deck chairs on The Hindenburg.
Now, it's not all bad guys out there. Some heroes out here tonight...
Buckley, Kim Schieffer. By the way, Mr. President,
thank you for agreeing to be on my show. I was just as shocked as everyone here
is I promise you. How is Tuesday for you? I've got Frank Ridge but we can bump him. I mean bump him. I know a guy. Just say the word.General Mosley, Air Force Chief of
Staff. General Peter Pace. They still support Rumsfeld. You guys aren't retired
yet, right? Right, they still support Rumsfeld.
Look, by the way, I've got a theory about how
to handle these retired generals causing all this trouble: don't let them retire.C'mon, we've got a stop-loss program; let's use
it on these guys. If you're strong enough to go on one of those pundit shows,
you can stand on a bank of computers and order men into battle. C'mon.
Jesse Jackson is here. I had him on the show. Very interesting and
challenging interview. You can ask him anything, but he’s going to say what he
wants at the pace that he wants. It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that
metaphor, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is.
Justice Scalia’s here. May I be the first to say welcome, sir. You look
fantastic. How are you?
John McCain is here. John McCain - John McCain.
What a maverick. Somebody find out what fork he used on his salad, because I
guarantee you it wasn't a salad fork. He could have used a spoon. There's no
predicting him. So wonderful to see you coming back into the Republican fold. I
have a summer house in South Carolina; look me up when you go to speak at Bob
Jones University. So glad you've seen the light.
Mayor Nagin is here from New Orleans, the chocolate city. Yeah, give it up. Mayor Nagin, I would
like to welcome you to Washington, D.C., The chocolate city with a marshmallow
center. And a graham cracker crust of corruption. It's a Malamar is what I’m
describing, a seasonal cookie.
Joe Wilson is here, the most famous husband since Dezi
Arnez. And, of course, he brought along his lovely wife Valerie
Plame. Oh, my God! Oh, what have I said? I am sorry, Mr. President, I meant to
say he brought along his lovely wife, Joe Wilson's lovely wife. Patrick Fitzgerald not here tonight?
Dodged a bullet.
And we can't forget man of the hour, new press secretary,
Tony Snow. Secret service name, Snowjob. What a hero, took the
second toughest job in government, next to, of course, the ambassador to Iraq.
Got some big shoes to fill, Tony. Scott McClellan could say nothing like nobody
else. McClellan, eager to retire. Really felt like he needed to spend more time
with Andrew Card’s children.
Mr. President, I wish you hadn't made the
decision so quickly, sir. I was vying for the job. I think I would have made a
fabulous press secretary. I have nothing but contempt for these people. I know
how to handle these clowns. In fact, sir, I brought along an audition tape and
with your indulgence, I'd like to at least give it a shot. So, ladies and
gentlemen, my press conference.(Video Tape of Colbert being stalked by Helen Thomas, the grand dame [little old lady] of the Washington Press Corps ... very funny)
If you look (really look) into people's faces, you will wonder how they can keep going. There is so much sadness in everyone's face that I think I can feel it myself sometimes. The funny thing is that a lot of people don't even know just how sad they are themselves. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. I think a lot of people have this built-in evolutionary defense mechanism called optimism that let's them keep going. If we were all realists we'd just curl up into a little ball or jump off a cliff. Lemmings are nature's realists.
Given enough time, everyone becomes a realist. If you have to die for that to happen then so be it. You got there in the end.
Darla describes herself as an optimist. I describe her as a red-headed soul-sucking vampire bitch. Not to her face, mind you. Maybe one day I will when I get the guts to do away with the illusion of friendship.
I should probably point out that I'm 35. Darla is 10 years younger than me. I met her when I was 30 and she was 20. We both worked at the same office. She was paying her way through JuCo and I was just hating my life. We were the only two people in the office who smoked. Darla hated being along for any length of time so every time she wanted to go smoke, she'd come up to me ask me if I "wanted to go smoke a cigawette." That's how she said it, "cigawette." I hate baby talk. The people who use it think it's cute or sexy or something. It makes me very uncomfortable. It was just part of Darla's bag of tricks, her modus operandi.
Darla hadn't seen her own father for about three years at that time and in the years I've known her, she's talked to him on the phone about a half dozen times and seen him once. She said he works for an oil company and has to travel a lot. If I had to take a guess, I'd bet he doesn't exist in any meaningful sense. If Darla knows her father at all, he is probably just some guy who knocked up her mother. Darla's all about drama. If no one is paying attention to her, she can change that easy enough.
Darla came into the office one morning scared that she had suddenly gone deaf in her left ear. She was fine when she woke up then she took a shower and after that she just couldn't hear very well out of her left ear. She told everyone at work with this kind of barely muted panic all over her face. Calm brings no attention and total panic ends the scenario too soon when your boss calls an ambulance and paramedics have to sedate you. She probably just had a big chunk of wax stuck in her ear. It happens. Wiggle your little finger around, squirt some water in there, grow the fuck up. But why take care of yourself when you can make an entire office full of people focus on you. And anyone who doesn't respond just right, well, they're being mean. You can talk about how they didn't get all worked up about your pending deafness for weeks after the doctor pronounces you "just dirty," sticks a water pick in your ear and flushes out 20 years of amber gunk.
I woke up once with dog's tongue in my ear and a mean chubber. Sure, I was ashamed, but what are you gonna do?
I got an e-mail from one
Mr. Douglas McCoy who
directed me to his web site,
DougieMcCoy.com. Turns
out, Mr. McCoy is a very
talented cartoonist who
takes a more whimsical
approach to the art of
comics. He reminds me
Sergio Aragones from Mad
Magazine fame. Visit his
site, shoot him an e-mail,
pay him to draw you as
The Hulk and encourage
a fine Council Bluffs artist
fer Chrissakes.
In a rare moment of stupid honesty, George W. Bush -- the boy who would be king -- told reporters who asked him about a new Spanish version of "The National Anthem" that our national anthem should be sung in English.
(tick... tick... tick)
Who gives a shit?! How stupid does one politician have to be to piss off a HUGE demographic on an issue that is essentially meaningless in every conceivable way? The National Anthem has been sung in Navajo at the Olympics. It gets sung before professional wrestling matches. Nobody knows the second and third verses. If someone wants to sing anything in whatever language they want to for the singular purpose of making it more their own, then God bless.
But even if it did irritate you that someone was taking our nation's theme song in vain, there isn't any good reason to say anything against it three days before Cinco de Mayo, the day after thousands of Mexicans proved they could turn out in massive numbers just to show their political potential. Why? Becauase it isn't illegal, immoral or problematic to sing anything in whatever the hell language you want to sing it in. I'm sure Italians have translated it into Italian and Germans have translated it into German.
So why alienate Mexican-Americans for no good reason? Stupidity. Or maybe Dubya just doesn't care how he looks because his legacy is tashed anyway.
Amazing cat adventure ends in joyful reunion with dumbass owner. I don't mind that people like cats as pets. Frankly, every personality demands a different sort of pet with different attributes that fulfill the pet owner. I probably should be a cat person. If I had two cats, they could play with each other and take care of themselves all day without me feeling guilty about not being home with them much. But I like dogs and I don't think I am responsible enough or emotionally available enough to take care of a dog.
For some odd reason, cat people seem needier than dog people, which is strange since most cats aren't naturally giving. They are takers.
Check out this story about a woman who was banned from a Chinese restaurant in Des Moines for being too picky. I guarantee she was a fattie, too. I've seen some pretty crazy shit in Chinese places, man. I went to one that made everything on the buffet out of chicken ... including the Mongolian. Not Mongolian Chicken. Not Mongolian Beef. Just Mongolian. You ask the owner "what's this?" "Chicken." He'd say in most hostile tones. I've never been to a Chinese buffet regularly that didn't start out pretty good and then start cutting corners and lowering quality until they weren't worth going to any more. They'll open with four shrimp dishes that kick ass and after a year or so they're down to one breaded shrimp dish they clearly got pre-packaged from a box. The Chinese Buffet (actual name) in Council Bluffs was down to one decent shrimp dish: salt and pepper shrimp. It was made of three ingredients. Last time I was there they were serving some kind of ranch shrimp from a box and calling it salt and pepper shrimp. They did this twice and I haven't been back since.
And why are they all called China Buffet, King Buffet, Jade Garden or Dragon House? Those four names must account for 95 percent of all Chinese restaurants.
Here's a sexy pic of Diana Rigg for you, Mike.
Diana Rigg was about the sexiest chick 1967
produced. Even by today's standards, I think
she is hotter than hell.
