If You Really Loved Me You'd Let Me Eat Your Brain

French doctors claim to have done a partial face transplant recently.

So if you were horribly disfigured by a pit bull attack, a chemical spill, or a cop-killing terrorist freed by Bill Clinton in his last drunken days in the White House, would you want a face transplant?

I'm not sure I would.  I think it'd be cool to have a scar bad enough that it causes "normal" people to pull back in fear, or a really burned and pitted face, kind of like, say, Edward James Olmos.

In fact, rather than get a new face, I'd have some of my more artistic friends help me design and build a series of freaky/cool masks.  Rusted iron for those days when I'm feeling lunatic, shiny hematite for fancy dress occasions, gold when I need to show off the bling, all spiky for when I feel like sharing my delicious, exquisite pain, etc.

Another tragic death that could have been prevented with club soda.

Hmm...this is a close one, but I'm going to have to go with Gun.  Parents who feed their three-month-old baby enough vodka to give it a blood alcohol content of 0.47 are people I'd rather have dead than reproducing and/or harming others with their fucked-up decision-making skills.

My wife is working Thanksgiving Day this year, so I'm casting about for things to do on the Great Day of the Bird.

Should I stay at home and pray to Lord Giganticus, the massive LCD monolith that mysteriously appeared several months ago in my living room?  Shall I offer up my paltry collection of DVDs for It to digest?  Should I stay in and catch up on work?  Or go bug my relatives and give them the nasty cold I've had for a few weeks?

I was discussing my options with Anne when it hit me: I should stick to the old ways and do as my forefathers did.  Dinner with the Indians!  I should be able to go to the nearest casino and mooch off of them, no?  I mean, why not?  They're supposed to share their plenty, whatever that is, with the white man, right?  So it's settled: I'll kick the doors in and demand food.  Maybe I'll even bring some blankets to keep warm.

Hot for teacher, indeed.  Debra Lafave, 25, got in trouble for getting it on with an unidentified male student whom I'll just call The Luckiest Kid in the World.

Under a plea agreement, Lafave will serve three years of house arrest and seven years' probation.  She'll also have to give up her "teaching certificate" ...FOREVER.  Do school administrators even check for these things?  I don't recall seeing any framed Teaching Certificates on the desks of any of the public school ass-clowns I had to deal with. 

She also

must register with the state as a sexual predator, may not have any contact with children including the victim, and will not be allowed to profit from the sale of her story or personal appearances.

Hmm.  Out of a job, at home for three years, hot, maybe single.  I'm thinking porn, right?  Does that count as a personal appearance?  If she's not playing herself an the shoot is done in her house, why not?

Unless Florida has a law against sexual predators being in porn, which I can't imagine, seeing as its a First Amendment thing.

The weakest part of Lafave's story:

[Lafave's attorney] said in July that plea negotiations had broken off because prosecutors insisted on prison time, which he said would be too dangerous for someone as attractive as Lafave. He said then that she planned to plead insanity at trial, claiming emotional stress kept her from knowing right from wrong.

Right, too pretty for prison.  Gotcha.