When we sat down today to blog (an verb which sounds like it should involve a magazine and a roll of charmin), we couldn't decide which ass to whup. There's so many to choose from.
There's the classy gal who got drunk and allowed her boyfriend to film her engaging in a little pooch-on-bitch hippity-dippity (note to self: booze, a video camera, and dog-sex are the main incredients for "shame pie"). Later, when her boyfriend threatened to make the video public, she pimped her unwilling underaged daughter to him. One wonders what the woman expects to receive this Mother's Day.
Then there was the case of Ms. Linda Brown, the Ohio woman who woke one day and decided to be a lottery winner. So she rented a stretch limo and headed straight for the mall, where she promised everyone in a particular store she'd foot the bill for their purchases. She learned a valuable life lesson that day: if one wishes to live the life of a lotto winner it's generally a good idea to be one. Because when it was discovered she didn't have two nickles to rub together, the tastefull populace rioted and looted the store so they could get the free stuff they were promised. Stay classy, Ohio.
But no. No, today we've decided to train our cross-hairs on the Heenes. For the better part of Thursday afternoon, Rick Sanchez of CNN could barely contain his glee as the nation (read: cable news) trained its jaundiced eye on what looked to be an air-bourne batch of Jiffy Pop soaring down the front range of Colorado. We all know the story by now: it was believed that a 7-year-old boy named Falcon (why must we name our children after nouns?) had climbed aboard an experimental helium balloon and was performing an unrehearsed solo production of "Around the World in 80 Days." When the thing landed, as suspicious locals poked at it with pitchforks, it was quickly determined that Falcon remained a flightless bird. He'd been hiding in the attic all along.
The first thing to note is the palpable disappointment on the part of the vapid talking heads. Sure, they SAID they were relieved but you KNOW they wished the kid had in fact taken that horrifying journey to 14,000 feet and returned to earth frozen stiff and frightened to death. They could have milked that shizzle for serious ratings.
Second, if the latest rumours are indeed true, and the Heene's actually cooked up the scenario in order to score a reality television gig, one can't help but admire their chutzpah and creativity. Granted, they had the bad taste to appear not once but twice on a ghastly spectacle called "Wife Swap" (a word of advice to Mrs. Heene: perhaps the fact that your family is so eager to trade you like a pack of bubble gum cards could be mined for a hint or two). But if Kim Kardashian can become a celebrity because of a sex tape depicting Ray J's shame hose disappearing up her oopsie hole, the Heenes may enter the temple of "Hey Everyone! Look at ME!" It's not that exclusive a club. They let anyone in these days (hi, Elizabeth Hasselbeck!).
We frankly don't care. We can proudly say we don't even know what Kate Gosselin's voice sounds like and we want to keep it that way.
But also, vis-à-vis "balloon boy," we smelled a hoax the minute young Falcon skipped up to reporters. Why? Let's step into the way-back machine, shall we?
One day when we were four years old, Mumsy took us along grocery shopping. Anyone who's ever seen a woman in a grocery store with an under-five knows she was flirting with disaster. Sure enough, as soon as Mumsy turned her back, we'd picked up a pricing gun and marked up an entire aisle of canned goods to $100. When store management complained (unappreciative of their exponentially-increased profit margin), Mumsy hissed at us through her teeth that we were to exit the Food King that instant and wait in our gorgeous faux-wood paneled Chevrolet station wagon so she could finish shopping before spanking our fanny. We obeyed. But instead of waiting in the back seat like a normal child, we thought it might be cute to crawl into the spare tire compartment, where we promptly fell asleep.
We awoke four hours later when the town sheriff discovered us. Teams of cadaver-sniffing dogs had been searching nearby Bear Creek for our bloated corpse. Mother wasn't happy.
We considered it an apt lesson for a woman who sent her four-year-old, unmonitored, to wait in the car. Heavens to betsy, why didn't just she tape a sign to our shirt saying "kidnap me, I'm into butt-sex"? The lesson was lost on her, and spankings ensued for the next two days. She spanked us right there. Then Dad came home and spanked us with a belt. Then Mumsy got to thinking about it the next day, got angry all over again and spanked us some more. Parents are hardly ever happy to discover that a major search and rescue operation was undertaken because of a child's game of hide and seek.
So when be-dimpled moppet Falcon Heene pranced out of the attic and was greeted with hugs, instead of serving some serious hard time on the "naughty stool" at the very least, we cried "shenanigans."
Hoax? Absolutely. And now the Heenes are facing a butt-load of potential felonious charges.
We can see it now: "Jail Family: The Maximum Security Heenes," premiering this spring on Fox.
Falcon Heene sez: "My dad said if I play along with his hoax I could subscribe to this blog's feed."