Welcome to has-been Hell.

Via Drudge (where the picture makes him look startlingly like Tim Robbins): Adam Ant arrested.
LONDON (Reuters) - Former British pop star Adam Ant has been arrested after apparently running amok and stripping off in a London cafe.

Police said on Thursday they had arrested a 49-year-old man on suspicion of criminal damage, while The Sun newspaper showed pictures of the former 1980s heartthrob being held by two burly policemen, a blanket wrapped around his waist.

Newspapers said Ant, real name Stuart Goddard, had "gone berserk" near his north London home on Wednesday before stripping off his trousers in the cafe.

The outburst follows an episode last summer when he threatened customers at his local pub who had laughed at his cowboy attire. He walked free from court in October after judges ruled he was suffering from temporary mental illness.
Walked free? That was a cry for help. If they cared, they'd have committed him to a term on "What Not To Wear".
Ant's career saw him selling 15 million records, including punk-pop hits like "Prince Charming" and "Stand and Deliver." Police said he had been released on bail until mid-July.
That's the most offensive thing in the article: "punk-pop"? Adam Ant? If he was punk the Backstreet Boys have street cred.
And there was much rejoicing.

CBS Sportsline says the Mets finally bit the bullet and fired GQ, replacing him with Jim Duquette in the interim. None too soon, either; his lame ass should have preceded Valentine's out the door.


That's the last time I order anything delivered.

I am officially a freak magnet.

My pizza delivery guy last night spent twenty minutes on my front porch telling me his supposed life story. How he's not only a mathmatical genius (this came up during the change-and-tip exchange), but a big rock star--the guy who was supposed to replace David Lee Roth in Van Halen, no less--who's had amnesia since '86 because his ex-wife hired some thugs to crush his skull (or, alternatively, whose ex-wife merely knew about an outside conspiracy to crush his skull--that part was pretty murky), and who just recently found out who he was because the parents of the heiress to the Iams dog food fortune spent $10,000 on a background search because said heiress was desperately interested in dating him. David Lee Roth and Bob & Tom (of The Bob & Tom Show) are also involved in the tale of woe; apparently Diamond Dave was desperately looking for this guy to go on tour with him and Sammy Hagar, and using the Bob & Tom show to put out a call for this guy to come pick up a check for $100,000,000 (yes--one hundred million dollars) for what they owed him (it was unclear precisely what they owed him *for*, but there was some reference to a t-shirt design that evidently made the fortunes of the band--who knew? All this time I thought it was the albums.) He's also apparently the only man the Earnhardt family will ever let drive car #3 in public again, but there's some kind of conspiracy on the part of Van Halen to keep him off the NASCAR circuit for another six months or so, because there's some kind of technicality requiring that he complete his first NASCAR race by the age of 48. Oh, and "Forrest Gump" was based on his life story. I'm not really that easily spooked, but I was thoroughly wigged out by the time the guy got the hell off my porch and drove off. And my pizza was stone cold.

So I spent the rest of the night with the doors locked and my gun close at hand, because the phrase "if you can't get in the front door, go around the back" cropped up a couple of times in reference to the machinations of his Salt Lake City lawyer trying to get him his cut of Van Halen's money. It doesn't help that I live in the weird crime epicenter of Ohio, and now a certifiable nutbar has my address and phone number. Bleah.


Poet's corner.

Kevin Parrott, the brooding poet at Hep to the Jive, has published an hilarious ode to Time-Warner Cable.
Fat Rajah still balked at 299.

Thanks, Karros.

What? I hope you didn't think I was going to be gracious about it.