Let Freedom Reign

Donald Trump and Miss USA

Rumors that Miss USA, Tara Elizabeth Conner, may bequeath her crown due to disreputable conduct have been spattered in the tabloids from NYC to Sydney, Australia. Apparently, The Donald will deliberate this week with George and Ivanka to decide whether or not to fire her like some schmuck on The Apprentice or stand behind her like a true patriot.

So what if she's not a priss. That's not why our blessed grunts are spilling their precious blood over seas. If we wanted our women to tow the line and sacrifice their souls for some bullshit Leave It to Beaver ideal, then why bother with the Taliban and those holy warriors in Iraq.

Miss USA Tara Conner

So what if Miss USA has taken the term "bottle whore" to a new level by consuming vast amounts of blow while distributing the same to every club owner in the Meat Packing District. And so what if she drinks alcohol like a failed writer on the dole, even if she is underage, she's been able to comport herself more maturely than our other anointed southern belle.

Is anyone truly surprised that Miss USA is a coke snorting, cock smoking socialite? Did we honestly believe Paris Hilton was unique? This is America. If a gorgeous, successful 20-year-old can't live a little, what have we become?

Alas, the great bastion of morality that is Trump will seize back the crown to preserve the austerity of his franchise and America's perverse infatuation with beauty pageants less he condone this image for Miss Teen USA to follow. (Like it ain't too late.)

Miss USA Tara Conner

Perhaps it's best. Once Tara is dethroned, our patron saint of freedom and the American Dream will come to her rescue. If only Hef had a cape, but I suppose a private jet and the Girls Next Door are close enough. Our fallen angel can cash in with a spread in Playboy and do her country proud.

Let the grunts plaster her centerfold in their dust filled barracks to remember what they're fighting for while they scoop beans out of a can. Or better yet, let's superimpose our naked beauty queen on the front of every charging tank and swooping Blackhawk as a refutation to those who treat women as subjects and fear what freedom will bring -- equality, a lust for life, and a plethora of amusing gossip columns.

To the Left, to the Left

Everything you own in the box to the left.

I played Beyonce's Irreplaceable video on Yahoo! Launch a half dozen times this evening. Perhaps it's my impending departure from PR Newswire that makes it relevant, not that the corporation is a sugar mama who caught me driving another girl around in the car that it bought me, but more like I'm the scorned lover and you must not know bout me.

It's hard for me not to gush over everything Beyonce does, but this song is immensely beautiful, so much so that I am convinced Victoria's Secret should have had its models parade down the runway in a bra and hot curlers, but I don't think any of them are ready for this jelly.

Speaking of which, last night I sat on the couch and watched Gisele run to and from the catwalk in high definition, a brave new world even Huxley would enjoy. While it's true there is not a trace of cellulite on any of these ethereal specimens, there is only so long one can stare at Karolina Kurkova's cameltoe before feeling imbecilic, or gaze in wonder at Justin Timberlake's head, which is as perfectly round as a bowling ball. Not that I want to hurt him in anyway, but I can't shake the image of his head spinning in the ball return at Chelsea Piers; bringing sexy back, I guess.

Nor could I shake the image of Al Sharpton prancing down the catwalk wearing those angel wings, no doubt an amalgamation of the local news tease and effervescent eye candy. I neglected to mention I was smoking a fine Cohiba cigar and sipping a chilled Winterfest, which enhanced the juxtaposition of NYC outlawing trans fat, the Dunkin Donut's Fritalian jingle, and the filler of Gisele saying she wanted to wrap it up cause she was hungry. Naturally, I imagined her and the other models hitting up the drive thru at Taco Bell followed by the lipstick smirk of Channel 7's Bill Ritter saying with a simultaneous air of incredulity and twinkle in his eye that they all became sick due to the E. coli outbreak. Poor Adriana Lima, shown spitting up green onions with ripped hot sauce packs in her lap, but I digress. Has anyone seen Liz Cho?

To the left, to the left, everything you own in the box to the left.

So don't you ever for a second get to thinkin you're irreplaceable.