Black Rocks

This is WTC Ground Zero yesterday, and those aren't spare ribs, extra-charred. They are the ribs of a 19th Century Slave Ship, which were apparently ribbed like a French condom (or a Frenchman, for that matter) which were discovered there yesterday. If it weren't for 9-11, they would never have been found. But are archeologists and scientists thanking Osama? No.


Wait! A 19th Century slave ship? Oh my Dog, it's The Black Rock from Lost!



So is Manhattan actually The Island from Lost? Eloise Hawking did say it moves about. Did it move to New York Harbor? It would explain so much. Why are New Yorkers so hostile? They are The Others! Why does nothing there make sense? It's The Island. Why are the rents so out of control? The place is being run by Hurley! Why is it that when I phone someone in NYC at noon, they don't get the call until 3 PM? The time-distortion field that surrounds The Island! Manhattan is lost in time and lost in space, and meaning, like Australia, or Catalina. And that's not pollution; it's the Smoke Monster!


It even explains the penchant for giant statues. Giant statues are only found in three places: the giant statue of Towaret on The Island that was sheered off when The Black Rock hit it in a storm (though you'd think that when a wooden ship hits a stone statue, the ship would suffer the worst damage.), Miss Liberty in New York Harbor, and the giant statue of me (aka "Miss Take-Liberties") here in my hedge labyrinth, The Befuddlement, which was built for my 1935 movie HER! at RKO, and has been here ever since, except for its brief loan-out to Universal when I made Abbott & Costello Meet She Who Must Be Obeyed in 1955. I bet if you lifted Miss Liberty's skirt, you'd find she has only 4 toes. And if you lifted my skirt, you'd get something amazing also, and I speak as a skirt-lifter from way back.



Speaking of Black Rocks, I have a message for Old Spice:



I don't give a rat's ass how this Adonis smells. Hell, he'd have to have been dead a week to smell worse than me anyway. What I care about is how he tastes!


So I'm just going to let him ride me off into the sunset. Besides, I have to go flog Big Brother now over on The Huffington Post, where you can read my newest piece: "Big Brother 12: (Mala)Props to the Houseguests." We make quite the pair, Old Spice and Old Slut.

Cheers darlings.