Michigan Democrats have reached agreement:

WASHINGTON (AP) — Michigan Democrats agreed Friday to push a do-over primary in early June to give them a say in the close presidential race between Sens. Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Obama.

Amid talks with the two campaigns, the four Michigan Democrats said in a statement they were “focusing on the possibility of a state-run primary in early June which would not use any state funding.” Rep. Carolyn Cheeks Kilpatrick, one of the Democratic participants, said a likely date is June 3.

It is expected that, soon, Hillary Clinton will also triple dog dare Obama to stick his tongue to a frozen flag pole*.

* No word on whether or not this will lead Obama into a career in porn.

From this article regarding Terry Pratchett donating $1 million for Alzheimer’s research comes this little gem of socialist care:

Mr Pratchett is paying for the Alzheimer’s drug Aricept because the NHS says he is too young to get it for free.

Once he’s older, senile, and beyond help, they will happily hand him the drugs he won’t need at that point for free.

I’m sure, of course, that Mr. Pratchett has little problem paying for the drugs, given his successful writing career. However, what about the (theoretical) 59 year old dockhand who is also suffering?

I guess the NHS is betting that by the time he’s old enough, he won’t even remember wanting Aricept at all. Classy.

[Pratchett] told the conference he is prepared to go to extreme lengths in order to beat the disease.

He said: “Personally, I’d eat the arse out of a dead mole if it offered a fighting chance.

It certainly offers more of one than the NHS.

There’s a slogan for them!

Your NHS: No Better Than the Arse of a Dead Mole!

At least we’d finally see truth in advertising.

Um, okay:

NESS CITY, KS (AP) - Deputies say a woman in western Kansas sat on her boyfriend’s toilet for two years, and they’re investigating whether she was mistreated.

Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple says a man called his office last month to report that something was wrong with his girlfriend.

The sheriff says the woman’s muscles had atrophied and that medical personnel had to remove her from the toilet because she was bound to it by “natural means.”

I am going to guess there’s either a very tragic or very freaky story behind this.

Either way, that’s got to be some kind of record. Congratulations.

Butt* Wait! There’s more!

A 35-year-old woman who sat on her boyfriend’s toilet for so long that her body was stuck to the seat had a phobia about leaving the bathroom, the boyfriend said.

“She is an adult; she made her own decision,” said her boyfriend, Kory McFarren. “I should have gotten help for her sooner; I admit that. But after a while, you kind of get used to it.”

“But after a while, you kind of get used to it.”

Dude, if I am in the bathroom for a minute or two, I’m answering the call of nature.

If I am in there for several minutes, I’m probably answering a completely different - yet oh so natural** - call.

But two years?

Hell, if am in there for even an hour, I’m either dead or in serious need of some kind of help.

Kory McFarren: you are an imbecile.

I don’t make fun of people with phobias, which is a shame, because I was all ready to say something like this:

Woman: Kory, do these pants make my ass look big?

Kory: No, but the toilet seat stuck to it sure does.

But now I won’t.

* I kill me. I do. I really do.

** Unless you’re Catholic.

Posts like this are why I read Pharyngula for the science, and not for the moral or political stances taken therein.

Of course, I’m still perfectly ok associating with PZ Myers just as I am associating with Rightwingsparkle, despite the fact I find them both to have political stances that drive me to club baby seals - innocent ones at that - as a tension reliever.

Although, no offense, PZ, but she’s hotter.

Oh no!

A meteorite which ploughed into the Peruvian countryside last year should have shattered and dispersed long before reaching the ground.

That is the conclusion of scientists who have been examining samples of the space rock and the 15m-wide crater it dug out in Carancas last September.

The discovery of a water-filled hole, following reports of a fireball in the sky, made headlines around the world.

Now experts say the event challenges conventional theories about meteorites.

Clearly, given that current scientific theories regarding meteorites may now have to be amended, we should accept that evolution is false and creationism is true and that quantum mechanics should be supplanted by the powerful truth of The Secret.

I’m a little late to the game (and the season and this episode), but now I’m coming at you with the best and most honest review of American Idol you will find anywhere on the web. Nothing but the facts, ma’am.

And away we go…

Chikezie, long lost Nigerian twin of Alfonso Ribeiro’s character Carlton from “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” is up with “She’s a Woman.” Taking a page from the Kat McPhee page of musicians on stage, I see… although, thankfully, he is not wearing a yellow dress that flashes his panties.

Little known fact: Chikezie wears pretty panties. Frilly ones even. He likes the way they split the boys.

Regarding the performance… well, ok. It was loud. It was upbeat. It was not that memorable to me. (Zombyboy disagrees).

Randy and Paula are hitting the bottle.

Paula makes a bold statement: “Those who take a risk will reap a reward, if the risk works out.” Kind of like how if you buy a lottery ticket you can win the lottery, if your ticket is a winner. Genius!

Simon got into some crack too. So to speak. Not that he’s gay or nothin’. I guess. I wouldn’t know. Although, there was that one time in Bangkok.

Ramiele Malubay sings my favorite Beatle’s song, “In My Life.” And this arrangement has sucked the tenderly reminiscent life out of it, sounding more like Bryan Adams’ “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?” than what it’s supposed to be.

Randy calls it. Paula leads in with the “gosh, you’re pretty” bit of damning praise. Simon has it right, except for considering the original song boring. Now, it’s not something you’re going to play at a party (except if everyone is drunk and crying in a bottle), but it has its place.

Sorry, missed this guy’s name because the wee Fiona was having a fit.

Oh, there it is: Jason Castro.

She’s very pretty.

(Sorry, I missed all the singing. See the Fiona comment above).

Next up: Carly Smithson performing “Come Together.” And apparently in need of a good hair washing.

The judges liked it. I found it… rather dull. But this might be a case where the studio sound is better than my “upstairs bedroom television complemented with screaming children” sound.

David Cook sings “Eleanor Rigby.”

I really, really hate it when musicians smash guitars (or other instruments). Have I mentioned that?

I enjoyed the performance, although the breakout on the chorus was all too predictable. And the “horns” gesture, apparently a sign of his rockin’ metal cred, was just silly in such a song.

Brooke White sings “Let It Be,” with the philosophical insight that sometimes you just have to let it be. And what goes up comes down. And blondes have more fun.

I like that she can actually play an instrument or two. The performance was solid and acceptable, even if only because following McCartney’s footsteps on the piano don’t leave a lot of room for showmanship in this song (nor, in such a style, would it call for overt showmanship). However, she did it justice, I think.

David Hernandez takes the stage for “I Saw Her Standing There” and refuses to hit the high “hoooooo” notes himself, despite going all over the place with his vocals. He also gets drowned out at parts by the lead guitar. And it was lackluster. And, um, sucky.

Randy: not impressed. Paula loves his voice, which means “it sucked.” Simon is short and to the point.

Oh my god, there’s an Amazonian woman about to crush Ryan! Oh, sorry, that’s Amanda Overmeyer, who really needs a new hairstylist, because that’s awful.

Anytime someone says they’re gonna “rock it up a little bit,” I begin to worry.

But for no good reason, it would seem, as Amanda made “You Can’t Do That” something worth paying attention to (despite some hard-to-understand lyrics). She’s got style and power and it won’t be long before her recording contract with the folks behind American Idol suck that right out of her.

Hey, he can play basic chords, welcome Michael Johns to the stage. “Growing up in Australia, music was just so important” to him. Because all Australians are musical prodigies, apparently. Such prodigies that he puts the guitar down for “Across the Universe.”

Isn’t it sad when the hand-waving (sans lighters) groupie-wannabe’s can’t find the rhythm of an acoustic song?

Aside from that, wake me when it’s over.

Christy Lee Cook sings “Eight Days a Week.”

Sort of.

Wow, is she totally off the beat? What the hell is going on? This is a trainwreck. Kaboom!

But she’s still tasty hot. And because I know what is important, if I actually cared, I would call and vote for her.

Did David Archuletta just forget some of the lyrics to “We Can Work it Out?”

Paula confirms he did. For shame.

At least he has the Rick Astley vote, so he’ll probably be around next week.

Your universe needs you!

MIGHTY oaks from little acorns grow. In the 1840s an astronomer called Urbain Le Verrier noticed there was something wrong with the orbit of Mercury. The main axis of the planet’s orbital ellipse shifts each time it goes round the sun. That was well known, and is caused by the gravitational pull of Venus. Le Verrier, however, realised that the orbit was shifting too fast. The excess was a tiny fraction of a degree. But it was a disturbing departure from the purity of Newton’s majestic clockwork—a departure that was explained only 70 years later, when Einstein’s general theory of relativity swept Newton away by showing that gravity operates by distorting space itself.

Even Einstein, however, may not have got it right. Modern instruments have shown a departure from his predictions, too. In 1990 mission controllers at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in Pasadena, California, which operates America’s unmanned interplanetary space probes, noticed something odd happen to a Jupiter-bound craft, called Galileo. As it was flung around the Earth in what is known as a slingshot manoeuvre (designed to speed it on its way to the outer solar system), Galileo picked up more velocity than expected. Not much. Four millimetres a second, to be precise. But well within the range that can reliably be detected.

Once might be happenstance. But this strange extra acceleration was seen subsequently with two other craft. That, as Goldfinger would have put it, looks like enemy action.

Oh man, if the scientific method finds a flaw in current thinking, it means we have to return to the default position that gravitation is actually a bunch of industrious elves moving things around.

Forget everything we have learned to date! Be gone, evil anti-elf secularism!

Elves, baby!

Very smart, very fast - and surprisingly magical - elves.

Amen.

Your liver, maybe not so much:

Middle-aged non-drinkers can quickly reduce their risk of heart disease by introducing a daily tipple to their diet, South Carolina researchers say.

New moderate drinkers were 38% less likely to develop heart disease than those who stayed tee-total, a four-year study involving 7,500 people found.

Those who drank only wine showed the most benefit, the researchers reported in the American Medical Journal.

Does this mean, as Benjamin Franklin once said, that the making of wine is “a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy?” If so, does that mean he really doesn’t like Southern Baptists, Mormons, and Seventh Day Adventists?

I guess we know who won’t be getting invited to the Heavenly kegger. Won’t they be surprised?

Boy, how I am going to laugh and laugh and laugh at them from my place in Hell reserved for atheists.

I hate when two stainless steel dinner forks get their tines entangled and, as you work them apart, there’s this grating, shiny* sensation. Makes my teeth ache.

I also hate the way it feels when you smooth a bed sheet with the flat of your bare hand. Oh, and the way it sounds. Hate it. Makes me cringe.

Yeah, like you’re not weird in any way or somethin’.

* Honestly, that’s about the only way I can describe it. Feel free to do better, though.

…let’s bombard our space-faring galactic neighbors with our commercials too:

A British advert for crisp favourite Doritos is to become the first commercial ever to be beamed into space, it was revealed today.

The cosmic stunt will see the snack giant beam a 30-second ad beyond the Earth’s atmosphere and into the universe for any aliens that may be watching.

Wow, it will be the very first commercial sent into outer space, except for all those other ones from the 50+ years of broadcast television that have already radiated out into the universe. Impressive.