I am going to look beyond the

hysteria of the day, real or otherwise and try to turn our minds to the

silliness that still abounds.

It finally happened. Marketers

(or was it engineers?) finally found a way to capitalize on the Wonderbra

craze of a few years back and have created the "Wonderbum."

Wonderbum is the official name for the newly introduced pantyhose that

does for the derriere what the Wonderbra did for the chest, only backwards.

Cheers for another stride in

our ongoing quest for physical fakery. Continuing in the grand tradition

of advertising a product that can't be delivered, the Wonderbum supposedly

lifts and separates the rear end in an accentuating manner.

What I can't figure out is

why women continue to spend millions of dollars on these sorts of products,

knowing they only attract the kind of men that they continually complain

about. Like a bad episode of "Sex in the City," (pick any one

you want, they all apply) I can hear the typical conversation between

women, discussing this product:

"Men are pigs, they are

only interested in one thing. Why can't they appreciate me for my brain?

Well I can't continue this conversation, I have a nail appointment now

and then want to get to the tanning bed before I have to get in line at

Victoria Secret's for my very own Wonderbum."

Who thought of the name Wonderbum

anyway? This sounds like something a third grader would have come up with,

right behind, "Supercan," "Rumpmarkable," "Fannytastic,"

and "Rearrific."

I guess guys should be flattered

that women are trying this hard. Goodness knows, if you can get a man

to shave about every third day, you are doing good. Nevertheless, someone

needs to get to the bottom of this.

The World Series looms large

on the horizon, but not for the Atlanta Braves. The Bravos have become

the longest running disappointment known to man, only rivaled by Sylvester

Stallone's movie career. There is no other word for the Braves than "tease."

Year after year we are promised the Big Kahuna only to get the Big Kielbasa.

We know they are going to make

the playoffs. That is as assured as a rap singer's next arrest. What happens

after, though, is always just a big, fat, boring letdown, sorta like the

subsequent careers of every actor from "Seinfeld." Baseball,

the only game slower than women's golf and white guys boxing, now has

the consummate poster team for its target audience: the big, fat, boring

male.

Lastly, needing a good spamming

is Ann Robinson of "The Weakest Link." I never knew I could

just memorize the first book I ever bought, "2000 Insults for All

Occasions," and have made a career of it. This woman is more abusive

than Don Rickles in too-tight, asbestos underwear.

On Survivor they have blood-drinking,

here they have bloodletting. It's not that the show is unentertaining,

but how does a dumpy, frumpy wiseacre who just fell off the freight train

from the Middle Ages get to be a celebrity? The more I watched her, the

more she seemed to remind me of someone (or something).

Aside from the shark in "Jaws,"

it hit me. She is the combination of every mean librarian I have ever

seen in my life, Überlibrarian. If you were to marry a German Republican

dominatrix to a slaughterhouse foreman, they could very well spawn Ann

Robinson.

Does anyone have her number?

[Visit Billy Murphy on the

Internet at https://ebilly.net.]