"I love your column," PO'ed "PJ" writes, "but I can't understand why you're always trashing on Justin Timberlake. There are a million boy-banders out there who are just as primped and polished as he is.... What makes you think he's the gay one?"

I don't think Justin Timberlake is gay. I think water is wet and that the sun comes up in the morning. My notions of Miss Timberlake come from a far deeper, almost mystical understanding. And I love your column too.

The only thing uglier than politics is politics, and I'd rather suck rusty razor blades than soil my hands with anything as sordid as presidents. And yet! I find myself daydreaming about stuffing diamond-filled rubber balloons up my ass and swimming like hell to Switzerland when some enormous pile of Big Brother George W. Bush's crap finally hits the not-nearly-just-proverbial-enough-for-me-anymore fan.. Which is why I am cautiously optimistic in reporting that Al "I ain't much, but I'm all you've got" and Tipper "I'm with stupid" Gore were spotted in town last week, ostensibly promoting their new book, but really promoting Al's inevitable re-run for president. I am absolutely thrilled to report, however, that Al's recent Bush-bashing appearance on Larry King Live reveals him to be a warmly chuckling, brightly earnest, REI-wearin', swell sorta fella, and no longer, thank goodness, the freaky wax robot woman he somehow turned into when he conceded the presidential election. ("This is America... beep! We must work to-geth-er.... This is America... beep! Makeup!")

We are so very, very fecked.

Returning to matters glib: Rob Schneider was spotted strolling in front of the Pike Place Market last week. He reportedly strolled along with a herd of hangers-on, and was short.

Keeping to matters short: "I'm serious!!! Freakishly short," reports "Erin," who claims to have run across most if not all of the (allegedly) freakishly short American Idol posse. The itsy-bitsy wannabes were checking out the new Harry Potter at the Cinerama. They reportedly waited in line in the rain for tickets, shivering, shivering, shivering in their midriffs and Hello Kitty spaghetti-strap tops.

Which is funny enough to make me forget our neo-fascist, fearmongering president for a moment and go back to daydreaming about being the lunchmeat in a Danny Roberts-and-that-"Dude, You're Getting a Dell!" guy-sandwich, like God intended. Thank you, "Erin." Thank you.