Mrs. Boobs goes to Washington

I've been having trouble concentrating, darlings, which is why there have been no recent posts. Truth is, I'm in a black mood and don't know exactly why. It's not PMS, so it must be the bizarre spectacle of Anna Nicole Smith getting a hearing from the US Supreme Court. Frankly, after they helped Bush steal the election the first time around, they lost their dignified standing with me, so I'm not tearing my hair out over the media circus around it.
Nicole's 587 year-old husband was so goddamned rich, that if that buxom trailer trash skank and her stepson were to share a little itty bitty part of his wealth they'd still be unimaginably and unjustly rich and maybe we wouldn't have to see her terrifying likeness in Trimspa ads or reality shows, or anywhere, which would qualify as progress for mankind. But no, the stepson doesn't want to share his father's gazillions, and I say, even though it is perfectly clear to someone with two neurons that she is a golddigger, and the dad was a putz, let her have her day in Court. God knows she's been everywhere else.
As you may have noticed, this blog has now solved the problem of links between the text, thanks to the gallant advice of a blogonnaire friend who shall remain nameless. And so I'm gonna be so link drunk, you may want me to lay off the linking for a while. It turns out that for some reason, some of the editing functions of the foolproof interface known as Blogger were not appearing for yours truly. I suspect a right-wing conspiracy. But the problem has been solved and supposedly I should be able to do bold, italics, insert links, and coming soon, images.
None of which will be of Anna Nicole Smith, that I can promise.