From The "America, America, Alas" File

Flipping through channels last night I came across Miss Jessica Simpson in the back seat of a limo, waxing elequent, kinda, of her first day in seventh grade.  Midst titters and squeals at the memory, she recounted in the limo how pleased she was when her new teacher, clearly not yet cognizant of Miss Simpson's mental acuity, asked the class if anyone knew all the continents?  Thrilled at the opportunity to perform, Miss Simpson somehow got the teacher's attention, was called on and proudly announced, "A, E, I, O, and U !!" 

Certain that that would be the night's nadir, I was yet somehow not astonished to run across a "reality" show starring an excitable, diminutive young man yclept Flavor Flav, monied, unkempt,  inarticulate, and with a habit of wearing a dinner plate-sized clock around his neck.  Anyhow, for - I don't know, it seemed like a long time, Mr Flav flew 'crosst the 'Lantic to London and, clad in a Viking horned helmet, trod the sidewalks, harrassing passers-by in pursuit of his beloved, an Amazonian-sized, hard living blond and former Mrs Sylvester Stallone named Brigitte Nielsen.  Folks, I gotta tell ya . . . .