The Devil and Sandy Bullock

Webkinz are The Devil. I am convinced. Peach received one from a friend when she was suffering from The Fevah, and she and Olive both fell so in love with it, I actually plunked down $15 to get one for Olive. Half the draw of these Spawn of Satan is their fluffy, snugly cuteness, and the other half is going online to feed them, dress them, and decorate rooms for them, "paid for" by doing jobs and/or playing games. Since I firmly believe that computer games and online gaming are evil and destroying civilized society as we know it, we have exposed las ninas to nothing more computer-related than looking at our family pictures and the occasional email. Peach has done some limited research and animation projects at school, but she wouldn't know an X-box from a mailbox, and, for that matter, neither would I. Hate. that. shit. and how fat and anti-social it's making kids today. And, before you say it, even if I had boys, clearly the preferred audience for that crap, I would feel the same way and the household ban would still apply.

Anywho, Webkins. Sorry, WebkinZ. Yeah. So, because Peach knows nothing about the games, and Olive, of course, knows nothing about the games, and T-Bone's computer time these days is spent scouring the Internet for deals on TVs, guess who's the sole breadwinner, or "Kinzcash" winner around here? It's insane, y'all. All my blogging time lately has been spent trying to keep these damn things alive and clothed and swimming in their POOLS and watching their own giant flat screen TVs. All because I am a chicken shit and don't want to have to explain my way through some kind of lesson on virtual death. And I really don't want T-Bone coming home one day to hear, "Daddy! Mommy killed Princess! And Pixie, too! Because she can't play the games with the arrow keys! And now our Webkinz are DEAD!" Beware.

Another thing to beware of? The DVD of Premonition that's out now. Damn, y'all. I actually went to see it at the theatre because I enjoy Ms. B's films on occasion, and I enjoy Mr. McMahon on every occasion (rowrrr). I wish someone had had a premonition about how shitty it was going to be because I'm totally superstitious and would have totally heeded the warning. Gawd. Olive's never-ending, nonsensical, typical 3 year old stories have fewer plot holes than this stinker. I'm telling you, it's confusing and inconsistent, and you wonder afterwards, "Am I really stupid? Or did they just THINK I'm really stupid?" Don't buy it. Don't even rent it. Don't even watch it when they start playing it 5,000 times on TNT once their print of Shawshank Redemption finally burns up. It's that bad. Trust me. Love the restaurant though, Sandy.