Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Sarah Spain In Pain! Does Anyone Really Care? (photo)


After our coverage was derided as "gratuitous" and "pornographic" The Darn News cowered into submission. We would never blog about Sarah Spain again. Girlfriends can be so cruel. That was six weeks ago. But you, the dear reader, rule the DN and you have demanded changes.

The Spain Train is back...at least until there a fresh nubile female, who is chestier than Sarah, struts into Sportdom (applications now being accepted).

Sarah now lives in Los Angeles where she's trying to make it big in Hollyweird. Might I suggest a career as a Laker Girl? Darn News' has it on good authority that Sarah is unemployed. By day she is a waitress at the Waffle House, by night a stripper at the Highway Playground. She is applying to become a stripping waitress at a raunchy Houllihan's in Cerritos.

A few weeks ago, Sarah learned dating in LA is a bloodsport [read Sarah's blog here]. Sarah's beau escorted her to this posh bistro called TJI Friday's. After guzzling two boxes of the restaurant's finest beaujoleais, the couple canoodled privately on a sheepskin-covered bench toward the back of the dining room. Then, tragedy. I'll let Sarah retell it:

Suddenly, a large metal decorative plate displayed high on the bookshelf to my right tumbled off the shelf and struck me right above the eye.

Wine? Private room? Sheepskin-covered bench? Pardon me if I don't suggest a more lascivious reason for the plate's plunge.

Our poor heroine suffered a cut above her right eye! She was taken by ambulance to Kaiser Permanente. From there, she was lifeflighted to a better hospital, Cedars Sinai.

I can't believe I fucking blogged this pointless story. I guess this is what happens when you return The Sopranos to Netflix and receive back 10th and Wolf. Your perspective of what qualifies as entertainment becomes warped.

Here's a story in the WaPo about marketeers hawking condoms and tee-shirts at Spring Break in Panama Beach. No photos, just video. Ah, to be young again. I remember my spring break trips. Pale, hopeless, and rejected. Sort of like working in an office all day without the daytime drinking.

God, I miss college.

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