I swear, good people, I had nothing to do with this:

DENVER — Beer and asphalt spilled out of rail cars in downtown Denver Wednesday after a string of 34 freight cars crashed into parked locomotives, derailing four of the cars and damaging others.

A tanker car carrying Coors beer overturned and spilled its contents onto the yard, Forsberg said. Another car carrying asphalt was damaged and leaked.

Did they just refer to Coors as “beer?”

Clearly, the institution of modern American journalism has lost its way, pushing such dishonesty upon the people!

On the bright side, drunkards at the scene said the asphalt in the Coors was a notable improvement to its taste.

Pete Coors, are you listening? Are you?

Heh.

Brian Benson, an eighth-grade student who won first place in the Life Science/Biology category for his project “Creation Wins!!!,” says he disproved part of the theory of evolution. Using a rolled-up paper towel suspended between two glasses of water with Epsom Salts, the paper towel formed stalactites. He states that the theory that they take millions of years to develop is incorrect.

“Scientists say it takes millions of years to form stalactites,” Benson said. “However, in only a couple of hours, I have formed stalactites just by using paper towel and Epsom Salts.”

I suppose that if little Brian Benson had put a fish and a monkey in a cage, and they never mated to spawn a fonkey (pronounced “funky” for you laymen), he’d have won the uber-First prize and a tour of the Discovery Institute.

Ooh!

Ahhhh!

Ook ook bubble bubble!

(that’s the mating sound of a fonkey, see?)

Don’t know anything about them, truth be told.

But this guy might, because he inspired this post.

Not that he looks anything like Antonella Barba when nude. Although, if he did, I’d sure be trying to hang out with him more.

OK, just creeped myself out there a bit.

…just getting into the show as I was feeding the boy*, but away we go:

Kelly Clarkson doing what, I guess, is a new song called “Never Again.” Let it be never again that she wears that dress; it did her no favors, and she’s capable of being quite attractive I think.

Although, by comparison, Margaret Fowler makes Kelly look like a goddess, floating on clouds of lavender butterflies, bathed in the warm light of wee Baby Jesus and maybe even Zeus.

Up next, the six male finalists, and the lameness of this rivals that auditory asscrap “This is My Now” from last night’s competition. And outcomes Smokey Robinson to show them up. If only ABC were still around making hits, they could do “When Sanjaya Sings (Or Not).”

Blake Lewis and Doug E. Fresh? Much better than the previous song, and the crowd eats it up; and Fresh seems genuinely impressed and pleased. I have a feeling that win or lose, we’re going to hear the name “Blake Lewis” again, especially if your name happens to be Blake Lewis. Argh, the pressure, so much to live up to!

Time for the top six girls (eight if you count Haley’s chest) to come out and provide us with our Daily RDA of cheese. Joining them on stage is Gladys Knight who doesn’t look anywhere near 118 years old. Amazing stuff.

I think what we really need is a two-hour Haley Scarnato retrospective, with all the audio removed. Awww, yeah - and maybe she could wear a TRON suit.

Tony Bennett takes the stage, and a nation of teenage American Idol viewers go to get a soda, maybe some chips and dip, but not too spicy, because they don’t want to be ripping it in class tomorrow, you know. Well, that one guy, Garret Jones, probably would think it’s funny, but not when you have to sit next to him. Darn ol’ Garret.

Finalist Trivia: Blake Lewis’ parents are from South Carolina, Nebraska, and Borneo.

Wow, it’s like miniature versions of Steve Buscemi and John Candy (well, not so miniature in that case) accepting an award, except for the glaring lack of talent.

Melinda Doolittle performs with the Winans, and we should probably just declare her the winner and end the show right here.

Is Carrie Underwood wearing long pants under that see-through dress? Wait, nevermind, new angle and it’s jeans with some sort of bizarre, translucent cape-like thing. How…unsexy.

Now, a TRON suit… hubba!

Clive Davis comes out to plug Chris Daughtry, letting us know that his album has sold some 2.5 million copies. Chris Daughtry’s income from the sales? A tall latte and some spare change.

Wow, these African kids sure do have funny accents. They’re so thick I can’t understand a word they’re saying.

Sanjaya is the fifth Beatle. The one that sadly survived birth.

His sister is kind of hot though.

Please tell me that isn’t really Joe Perry playing guitar. I think it is. Oh lord, is he off the wagon and supporting a huge booze/crack habit? What else could explain this?

I remember when Green Day kind of rocked. And since it was 1991 or so, back in my college partying days, I’m surprised I remember it. Apparently Billy Joe fancies himself the Robert Smith of the 2000s, what with the hair and the stance.

Taylor Hicks is back. I preferred him with a sloppy mop of hair.

Finalist Trivia: When Jordin Sparks needs a break from the stress of American Idol, she indulges in hobbies such as pleasuring herself to pictures of Ruben Studdard. I could, of course, be making this up. Or, maybe she’s into philately, with a special focus on the postage of small island nations.

Bette Midler. Hmmm. Time for a beer. Wait, didn’t she used to be able to sing? That sounded pretty rough in spots.

Hey, awesome, a “Simpsons” movie coming this summer. Somebody put me in the Wayback Machine and send me to 1993 so it will be funny.

See, told you Kelly Clarkson can be attractive. I mean, sure, she’s no Sanjaya…

Followed by Taylor Hicks, followed by Carrie Underwood’s delightful gams.

…and more… hmmm, lots of Beatles songs, and McCartney’s entire catalog just came out on iTunes this week. Will Paul McCartney be making an appearance?

If so, that’d be cool.

If not, that’d be cooler.

And the winner is…

…who will it be?

…I’m giddy and nervous and near to wetting myself.

…and Paula refuses to have an opinion, as usual.

…and you’re both winners, even though only one of you is.

…and no surprise, it’s Jordin, although I think from a longevity in the music industry stance, Blake has a much brighter future.

Congrats to both, as I’m sure your incomes will blow mine away in no time at all.

And now they’re making her sing that horrendous songwriting monstrosity “This is My Now” one more time, because punishing us twice last night wasn’t enough for these sadists. Evil, pure, pure evil. A curse upon their houses!

If nothing else, Blake can sit back, relax, smile, and be glad he doesn’t have to sing this crap again (um, until the tour).

* Which is not a euphemism for anything naughty, although it probably should be.

Blake Lewis, Round One: “You Give Love a Bad Name” - decent performance, entertaining as usual, but for me seeing the same song a second time just saps it of its originality. Not that Bon Jovi songs offer much in the way of that anyway, but you know what I mean.

Jordin Sparks, Round One: “Fighter” - the weakest link here is the on-again, off-again lameness of the house band. Maybe it’s the sound system (entirely possible since I notice that the Dolby 5.1 surround on this show consistently sucks).

Wow, her dress shading at the hemline makes me think there’s a magnet near my television.

Trivia: Did you know that Blake Lewis’ favorite kitchen cleaner is NOT 409 as has been rumored, but Fantastic? No lie, and you heard it here first.

Blake Lewis, Round Two: “She Will Be Loved” Uh, yeah, Jordin’s the stronger singer. The falsetto is killin’ me, Blake.

My 18 month old boy, however, is clapping and dancing. I should probably be worried.

Other than the falsetto, I suppose it was ok, if dull.

Jordin Sparks, Round Two: “A Broken Wing” - Did she steal Kat McPhee’s hair for this performance? Mmmm, Kat McPhee.

That was a controlled, nearly flawless performance, which I almost completely missed because writing the bit of trivia below was more entertaining - for me anyway.

Trivia: Jordin Sparks was supposed to be cast in a 2006 remake of “Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman,” but the producers balked when they realized she was a good 22 feet 10 inches too short.

Don’t worry, babe, Hollywood is still a-callin’ your name!

Can you hear it way up there?

Blake Lewis, Round Three: “This is My Now” - Oh boy, the winning song from the American Idol songwriting competition. Wow, this should be lame.

All gnarled and crippled and drooling, even.

Watching Blake try to act motivated and inspired by this god-awful piece of music is almost as painful as the song itself. I dunno, Blake, I think that your inability to hide how much you abhor this sonic crap is going to cost you the competition.

That said, I think you have a bright future as a producer, if nothing else.

Jordin Sparks, Round Three: “This is My Now” - A strong voice helps this song about as much as a strong undertow helps a drowning man. You can point in the toilet and marvel at the big poop you made, but - dude - it’s still poop.

Can we just forget that these last two performances ever happened?

Can we at least dub in other lyrics? I think Monty Python’s “The Lumberjack Song” would be a drastic improvement.

How unfortunate that when Jordin cries at the end of a song, it’s powerful - but if Blake were to do the same, it would mean he’s a momma’s boy.

Trivia: “This is My Now” really sucks big donkey nuts. I kid you not.

So, in closing, and speaking of poop: tomorrow is elimination night.

Yikes, I thought Christopher Hitchens was a bit rough on the not-so-dearly departed Jerry Falwell…

He could learn a thing or two from Kristine:

Later that night, I was at Richard’s table when someone asked how Jerry Falwell died. And if there was one moment in my life when I was ready with a clever answer, this was it.

“He had an attack where his heart should have been,” I replied.

Ouch.

In the lyrical poetry of the immortal Eddie Money, “I think I’m in love.”

Well, you know, in that platonic bloggy sense, not some sort of creepy way or nothin’.

And stuff.

You know.

Whatever.

Honest.

(found via Pharyngula)

It worked so well having a post called “How Tall Is Jordin Sparks?,” that I figured we should probably have one in honor of Blake Lewis, the other contender for this year’s American Idol crown of scorn.

Because I am nothing if not serious and fair.

So, maybe you’re wondering just what those tattoos are that Blake Lewis has, right?

I mean, come now, chap, who hasn’t wondered?

As with Jordin Sparks being 27 feet 2 inches tall, I am happy to once again help you, the searching public!

Blake Lewis has two tattoos. One is a Monchichi and the other is the words “Simon Cowbell.” This, of course, is so that - win or lose in the finale - he can throw out that arm and say “I don’t know, Ryan, I think next year’s show needs more Simon Cowbell!”

You’re welcome.

Indeed:

GALVESTON, Texas (AP) — A woman blames the devil, and not her husband, for severely burning their infant daughter in a microwave, a Texas television station reported.

Eva Marie Mauldin said Satan compelled her 19-year-old husband, Joshua Royce Mauldin, to microwave their daughter May 10 because the devil disapproved of Joshua’s efforts to become a preacher.

“Satan saw my husband as a threat,” Eva Mauldin told Houston television station KHOU-TV.

Naturally, I figure most folks - religious or not - see Ms. Mauldin as a nutjob. Hooray for that. However, when you have religions that teach you that Satan is a real entity, and one that is waging war on the Earth - when you have the Roman Catholic Church taking exorcism seriously - is it really that far from Linda Blair projectile vomiting pea soup to some dude putting his baby in a microwave?

Way back in September, I penned a post titled “Jericho, Final Season, Episode 2.”

At the time, it seemed a good call: the show didn’t seem to know what it wanted to be, lurching toward some darkness of the human spirit, only to resolve it all with a sugary, feel-good ending that would have had Phillip Drummond and Arnold Jackson with a stomach ache.

Over time, though, the story grew - characters developed, arrived, and died; mysteries arose - and it became a regular, weekly viewing in the WWR household.

So, of course, CBS gets stupid and cancels the show.

Idiots.

Tonight there is sad news in Denver: the body of a 2-year old child swept away in a flash flood has been found downstream in the South Platte River.

I can’t possibly imagine the pain that would be caused by such a loss. The idea of losing my wee Fiona or my boy Ewan - and how it would feel - is simply beyond my comprehension. Sure, I can wrap my mind around the physical facts of it all, but the emotions…I don’t even like to think about it.

Reading the details the other evening of how, when the rescuers reached the mother and told her that they had not found her son, she let go of her hold on a concrete barrier and surrendered herself to the current, it tore at my heart.

My condolences to the family on the loss of their son, their grandson. It’s a horrible tragedy.

That said, if there’s ever been an example of how religion can make some people say stupid things, I think this is it:

Denver Fire Chief Larry Trujillo confirms that it is the body of Jose and says it is a blessing that the body was found.

“I think we’re blessed we found this child in this amount of time. As far as we knew it’s been in our prayers for everybody, this child could’ve ended up all the way in Weld County,” said Trujillo.

And we know what they do to the bodies of children in Weld County, don’t we?

Uh, WTF?

I’d like to think the prayers, futile as talking to the sky actually is, were more that the boy would be found alive, against the odds.

“The other day the aunt asked me, ‘Promise me you’ll find him.’ I said, ‘I don’t make promises like that, I promise we’ll keep trying,’” said Trujillo. “The odds of this I would definitely say are more than one in a million of being able to find this child. I think it’s the prayers that brought him back.”

Except, well, they didn’t bring him back, did they?

I’m pleased (which seems an odd choice of words, but I’ve got nothing better) for the family that they have some closure and can begin the process of grieving with a sad certainty of knowledge, but if the best a Christian can hope from prayer is that the body floats, well… so much for mustard seeds and moving mountains, let alone saving innocent children.

Rest in peace, Jose. Your life was far, far too short.