Saturday Morning Cartoons

      Probably meaningless but perhaps profound realization: Watching Newlyweds for even a minute in the bright light of morning while sober can cause painful brain injuries of roughly the same intensity and effect as thirteen-thousand-six-hundred-and-seventy-four ice-cream-headaches occurring simultaneously.   This is why the show airs normally in the evening.   I'm not sure any of us could withstand such blistering neurological agony in the early offings of the day without completely losing it and Jack Torranceing any and all of the unfortunate loved ones within hatchet-reach.  

      With that in mind, this blog will now begin accepting speculations on how long it will be before Nick Lachey, no Solomon himself, finally, says the words we know have been oh-so-long in the coming:

Darling.   Light, of my life.   I'm not gonna hurt ya.   You didn't let me finish my sentence.   I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya.   I'm just gonna bash your brains in.   I'm gonna bash 'em right the fuck in.   Ha, ha.

Or until he starts looking like Herbert Lom, his face a bundle of spastic tics and twitches so barely restrained that even a miswisping of the wind might send him into a homicidal mania so fierce and prolific it would make Jason Voorhees blush right through his hockey mask in embarrassment.   Either/or.   You decide.  

      In the meantime, this blog's going to rest with a hot water bottle on its head.   (Ah, Jessica Simpson, the only person I know of that makes Yogi Berra sound like T.S. Eliot.)