Knee-Deep In The Hooplalista

Boy, this week’s fashions just lend themselves to fun and games don’t they? Take, for example, this latest from the  Mexican Speedo line:

It’s in there  

Not that it isn’t a completely lovely, um, dressy thing. I’d call it a frock, but that might be an insult to frocks, which I know you’re all fond of. But here’s the fun part: in the next picture, see whose portrait  you can see in Lady M’s knee caps.

On her right knee, which, of course, is on the left. I think I can make out the faint, but distinct portrait of Eric Holder.

And on her left knee, I don’t know what that is, but it sure looks angry. Raj thought he saw John Belushi doing one of his world famous Samurai routines.

 

I’ll check into this: we could have stumbled upon a new type of body art that could eclipse the popularity of tats; it could be marketed as a Cellulite Etch-a-Sketch: each one unique, dependent on your own cellulite deposits, and the artist’s skill at collagen and Botox injections. Maybe I can get my own reality show, like Miami Ink. The District of Collagen? This entrepreneurial spirit seems to have me in it its grip – it’s like a drug.  I hope it doesn’t get me in trouble around here.

I should report on the event Lady M was hosting in her colorful Speedo: Surprise! It’s Cinco de Mayo! Which, until the Bush’s got here I always thought was Stinko de Mayo, but that’s another story. I got a history lesson and found out it actually commemorates the unlikely victory of 5,000 ill-equipped Mestizo and Zapotec Indians led by General Ignacio Zaragoza over the the much better-equipped French forces at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. I don’t know why the victory was “unlikely”  because they were fighting the French, who I guess surrendered when their Bordeaux ran out.

Imagine what it would be like around here if the French had won though: instead of Taco Bells we’d have Baguette Belles,  Chez-Chezs in place of Chi-Chis and instead of refried beans with everything, we’d get cassoulet with duck confit. Champagne would flow like water and would be held at the proper temperature table side in a wine bucket - not that there’s anything wrong with a bucket of Coronitas (little Coronas if you’re from the upper west side) - and Margaritas would be made with fine Cognac.

But best of all, we could all go to the French Riviera on spring break.

Also,I know for a fact we wouldn’t have a problem with illegal immigrants. The French are so snooty about the superiority of their homeland and culture, they’d stay right there in Mexico. Even if you couldn’t drink the water.

HEADS UP TO ALL MY FOM’S AND MOLS: posting will be light for the next few days. I’ve been called up for my semi-annual para-military training (everyone in the Big White needs to be battle ready) and will be reflecting from an undisclosed location, which may or may not provide wifi.)