Fett for President

* It’s Wednesday and the mood in the newsroom is one of general fatigue.  We’re still running off the fumes of Reverend Wright and the CTA crash.  I think we need a good new story at least once every three days or things start to get bleak.

* Sports did not leave me a package for this morning’s broadcast.  Any suggestions on how to stop this madness?  I’d blackmail them, but they all look like the kinds of people who don’t have secrets.

* Australian politician breaks down in tears after admitting sniffing a female colleague’s chair.  I think I’ve met my match when it comes to romantic desperation.

* Speaking of chairs and female colleagues…

* One of the production crew brought in a gift bag for pregnant writer Jenel today.  Since I sit at Jenel’s desk during the morning, no fewer than three other employees came by and asked me if the bag of baby gifts was for me.

Yes.  The baby gifts are for me.  Because I decided to skip the joys of courtship and young marriage to go directly to the whole “staying awake 24 hours, giving up the last remnants of your social life and mortgaging your kidneys for a college education fund” thing with an adopted whelp.

There’s about as much chance of me fathering a child in the next five years as there is of Boba Fett winning the Democratic nomination this year.

* World-class annoyance and “magician” David Blaine will attempt his next “trick” on Oprah’s show.  He’s going to hold his breath.  Wow.  I guess that makes every angry toddler in America a magician now.

* As the Army faces recruiting troubles, they’re letting in more people with criminal records.  And those guys get promoted faster and re-enlist at a higher rate.  They also earn more medals for valor.  See kids?  Crime does pay.

* More than half of Americans say they’re “struggling” or “suffering.”  Oh, come on.  I haven’t dated that many of you…

* A British radio station has a hit on its hands.  They’re broadcasting birds chirping for 18 hours a day.  Some of those listening just like identifying the birds.   From the article: “One listener, Steve Jones, claims to have identified 12 types including great-tits, greenfinches, wrens, swallows and flycatchers.” Including what now?

* MySpace now allows you to do karaoke, and they’ll post your performance for all to hear.  Finally, the perfect way for me to win a girl’s heart… with a blubbering rendition of “Open Arms” by Journey.

* The South Carolina teen who planned to blow up his school wanted to die, go to heaven and kill Jesus.  Couple of problems with that scenario, homeboy.  First, if you did die in the midst of an attack like that, I don’t think heaven would be your first stop.  And second, Jesus was already killed once.  I don’t think he’s planning on letting it happen again.

* Wisconsin man starts website dedicated to roadkill.  I’m making the anchors talk about this tomorrow.  Seriously.  Tune in.  Or set your TiVo for 4:30 a.m.

* Did you catch last night’s “American Idol” Neil Diamond night?  Paula Abdul totally derailed at one point.  Each contestant sang two songs.  But after the first half, when each singer had gone just once, Seacrest tossed it to the judges for some quick critiques.  That’s when Paula started judging Jason Castro’s second song… one he hadn’t sung yet.

“The second song, I felt like your usual charm wasn’t — it was missing for me. It kind of left me a little empty,” Abdul said.

Oh, Paula.  Dear, sweet, untalented, higher than Whitney Houston after a bad night with Bobby Brown, past her prime, confused, fumbling, more lost than Ronald Reagan’s spare set of keys, drunk, mumbling Paula.  What would “American Idol” be without your trenchant insight?

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