Well, now I’ve got a bone to pick with, as he is fondly known in some circles, Big Gay Rob. I went to see the movie he had so reviled, ‘Chicago,’ and discovered that it did not, in fact, ‘blow like a mofo.’ I will admit that the ending was terrible. It was happy, but it was a kind of forced happy, like ‘A.I.’ (This guy I know said that if I ever mentioned that movie again, he’d strap me down and force me to watch it as punishment. Luckily, he’s never laid an eyeball on this blog.) The only reason I can remember liking ‘A.I’ was for Jude Law, the third-hottest guy on the planet after (2) Chris Webber of the Sacramento Kings, and (1) a gentleman friend of mine. In other news, the boobie pinata so lauded in my last post was officially destroyed. We’ve got a videotape of it. First, the birthday boy opened a small hole at the back with one blind swing. The next swing connected with the left breast and sent most of the contents out in a high-speed jet that propelled Starburst candies practically through the door across the hallway. It was quite sad to watch – although not as sad, admittedly, as footage of the ‘Columbia’ breaking apart in mid-air. I mean, come on. Seven astronauts. The cream of humanity. Astronauts are pretty much the best our crappy species can produce, and seven of them all got vaporized at once. I hope they’re resting in peace.