. . . on a freakin’ pogo stick.

Actually, it’s Dawn Eden who needs to be jumping on the freakin’ pogo stick (yes, that way), but I digress - sort of . . . . 

You can’t snark something that’s such deadly serious [unintentional] self-parody.  I don’t even know where to begin.  [Maybe a task for the guys at Sadly, No!?]

I don’t know whether to laugh or weep for poor Rebecca Traister, who had to interview this nitwit.  Three freaking pages’ worth of interview, yet.  Go read, and be grateful that you’re not Dawn Eden.  Well, read until your eyeballs start to bleed, anyway.  I’m going to go drown mine in a gallon or two of saline now. 

And then maybe e-mail a certain someone to tell him how glad I am he never "got serious about chastity and got over the hump."  That hump, anyway.  [Oh, go freakin’ read it; it’s near the end of page one, fer chrissakes.]

Hey, I just had a thought:  Maybe we can do the whole world a favor - hook Dawn up with The Virgin Ben!  That ought to be good for preventing at least two or three new wars . . . .