Television journalist Don Lemon, who interviewed Joan Tarshis, one of the women who alleges that comedian Bill Cobsy raped her 40 years ago by drugging her and forcing her to give him oral sex, and asked her why she simply didn't bite on Cosby's penis to send the message that a non-consensual blowjob might not be the enjoyable lark he assumed. For a man to blithely imply that a woman is even vaguely responsible because she didn't physically retaliate against a sexual assault is simply out of his fucking mind. To put it in a context that Mr. Lemon can relate to, let's assume that he's walking down a dark alley by himself in the dead of night. I don't know what Mr. Lemon's vital statistics are, but for the sake of this argument I'm going to put him at about 6'0"and 180 lbs. He is suddenly accosted by a man who is 6'6"and 300 lbs. (the approximate difference in bio-mass percentage between Mr. Cosby and Ms. Tarshis at the time) and is armed with a knife or gun. The attacker, in a psychotic need to mollify his disturbed ego by forcing himself on what he perceives as a weaker individual, orders Mr. Lemon to get on his knees and suck the aggressor's cock - with Mr. Lemon's other option being to have his throat slit and his body left as chum for the scavengers in the alley. It's only because he possesses the hubris of the male gender (developed over a lifetime of watching Chuck Norris movies) which makes us assume that we are capable of fending off any attacker if only we have the will and the one-two punch to do so, that makes Mr. Lemon imagine that sinking his pearly whites into a rapist's wang would even cross his mind during such a terrifying and violent assault. I have no idea if the charges Ms. Tarshis is making against Mr. Cosby are true and with a 40+ year passage of time, I don't expect that I ever will. But if I was a woman discussing a sexual assault with a so-called "journalist"and the "journalist"asked me as stupid and ignorant a question as Mr. Lemon did, I think my only reasonable response would be to tell him to suck my dick.

Stephanie Fredricks, who was nominated for some BroadwayWorld.com awards for her performance in the comedy It's Just Sex at the Secret Rose Theatre in Los Angeles. The BroadwayWorld.com awards are among the most puzzling theatrical awards to me because the staff at the website nominate the finalists and then the ultimate winner is selected from the nominees' cronies logging on (after an irritating registration process in which they must provide their e-mail addresses to BroadwayWorld.com, which I have no doubt will find their way onto every spam mailing list in Christendom) and voting for their pals whether they've seen the show or not. As deserving for recognition as the nominees doubtless are, the ultimate honoree is nothing but a popularity contest. This is ironic because in the world of theatrical performers, nothing makes you less popular than winning an award that your circle of friends have been passed over for. So as talented as Ms. Fredricks is, I hope that her devoted legions of admirers do her a favor and take a pass on voting for the BroadwayWorld.com awards this year. If too many cast their ballot for her, she won't have a friend left.

Lacie Harmon, who posted a euphoric Facebook status about how wonderful her life is. I'm still not sure how it happened, but I thought I was responding to Ms. Fredricks' news of her BroadwayWorld.com award nominations with a reply of "Congratulations!" which I somehow mistakenly posted to Ms. Harmon's note. I initially thought of deleting it until I decided that news of someone having a happy life was actually more deserving of congratulations than being a finalist for an award that exists for the sake of collecting data for an e-mail distribution by a Nigerian diplomat offering a once-in-a-lifetime financial opportunity. Ms. Harmon saw it otherwise and immediately jumped down my throat for what she perceived as a bitter and sarcastic response. She quickly apologized after I explained my true intentions, but the whole episode made me realize that doing nothing always leads to less irritation than doing anything. So I've resolved to never again comment on one of Ms. Harmon's Facebook posts. It's the only way I can think of to make her near-perfect life even better.

Kansas resident Dan E. Campbell. I took one of those idiotic Facebook surveys asking me what U.S. states I had seen, and Mr. Campbell's home of The Sunflower State was one that I had yet to make an appearance in. He attempted to coax me to Kansas by telling me about some giant holes that the state boasts: the world's largest hand-dug well and a "subterranean adventure 650 feet below the earth's surface."But to me, the biggest hole in Kansas is Dan E. Campbell himself, which is precisely the reason that I've been avoiding the place. Kansas' only hope for a spot on the Jonny tour is for Mr. Campbell to try and dig their deepest hole yet and wind up in China. That does mean that I'd never visit China, but it seems strangely fitting for him to be so near the Great Wall. I'm told that Trivial Pursuit claims that Mr. Campbell is the only hole big enough to be seen from space.

Enemies List favorite Mara Marini, who stated "Nothing says ‘Give me a manicure!' more than wall mounted posters with VERY long red nails or French tips caressing strawberries or pearls."Since Ms. Marini is a female (and an exceptionally female one at that), she has no way of knowing that the ultimate inspiration for a manicure is receiving a prostate exam from a physician with fingernails like Dr. Fu Manchu. It's too late for you at that point, but when the fragile tissue of a man's rectum walls is scraped clean in such a manner, he want to be declawed like a freshly-domesticated alley cat so that no one will ever have to endure such agony again. That may not be as quaint an image as Ms. Marini's colorful wall mounts but we must consider all possible scenarios when considering what is the Alpha of any given circumstance. In researching this listing, I came across such statements as "Nothing makes you want a cupcake more than the latest Victoria's Secret Catalogue,""Nothing makes you want a beer like being pregnant on the 4th of July,"and "Nothing makes you want to read a book like people burning it."Those are all excellent incentives, but they pale next to the sensation of having your anus exfoliated by razor-sharp talons. But I don't want to puncture a hole in Ms. Marini's sunny optimism so I'll keep my opinions to myself. Nothing makes my day like a Facebook post by Mara Marini. Unless it's a prostate exam from a doctor who needs a manicure. I'm into some pretty weird stuff.