Beyoncé has broken her toe. Be advised that the Red Cross is setting up emergency blood donation centers in most major metro areas, and that the 328-pound personal bodyguard whose big feet were responsible for the injury is unavailable for comment (i.e., possibly missing and presumably going to stay that way). Beyoncé, however, went on record, explaining, "Ow, fuckin-a, ow, ow." No word from the White House at the time of this printing, but we'll be following the story until riiiight...


Speaking of no words from the White House: "Our enemies never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." There, now. See? George W. Bush really is only a plastically surgerized, Freudian-slipping Dan Quayle. I'll gladly entertain alternative explanations. Anyone?

Which reminds me: Die, fucktard. Yes, you maybe. If the emotionally crippling election polls are correct, every other fellow American or so is tinkering with notions of a favorable Bush vote--i.e., half of us are spiritually retarded, morally criminal, catastrophically dim, or are in some way (for shame!) greedy regime profiteers. Or simply lacking the ability to recall the glory of pre-Bush life. (Try it--amaze yourself.) This unthinkable situation is more fundamentally disturbing than a whole chain of Michael Jackson daycare centers, and fills me with all the desperate, airless panic and revulsion evoked by the words "ass-scab casserole" and hissing spiders. But consider this: Since our actual votes don't count for fiddling shit anymore, what the hell do the polls have to do with anything? Exactly.

And if our pursuit of celebritology ever leads us to unhappy conclusions, let it be this one alone: The scores of fabulous but tragically unprintable Jean Enersen stories I've collected this week are exactly that. (Don't ask.) Besides, I really meant Kathi Goertzen. Best dish on Kathi gets printed, blah, blah. Go!

Been wondering what Madonna has been drinking? Well, it's Kabbalah water. Wondering what Kabbalah water is? Well, the Kabbalists aren't telling. (I called. I asked.) The juju-ish Jews are pocketing $3.25 per bottle, however--even though the mysterious fluid is unofficially less miraculous than a single stimulating drop of dirty bathwater spooned from the tub of one or more of those smoldering blond cell-phone triplets, dammit.

And if you've heard that some guy from Mercer Island called Joel played the grouchy bank loan officer who wouldn't give Aunt Mae her free toaster in Spider-Man 2--and that the same guy is also soon to be hosting The Soup on E! Television--well. Right.