Nobody's Perfect: Today, we found out the real reason seventeen young women in an American High School made a pack to all get pregnant at once; they wanted to be just like Amy Winehouse, who despite her name, prefers harder stuff.

Why you might ask?

As you can see from this picture, Amy loves fast food. She also loves crack. And nothing gives you the munchies faster than smoking crack, grass, uppers, downers, and then putting a fake beauty mole on the top of your lip, tatooing strange women on your armpits, and starting roach mobiles in your hair.

It also gets you very rich.

And since being very, very thin, makes you very, very popular in high school, most of those pregnant girls were probably overweight anyway...or if not thought they were, so why not get pregnant? Having a baby gives them an excuse to pig out, eat, and sit around together wondering just when Amy is going to die. There is even a website to take your bets. It's called, "When Will Amy Winehouse Die? Predict it here!"

No. I did not make that up.

And no, I will not link you. Find it yourself, you sick twisted freak, as Glenn Beck would say. (Wow, that was rough!)

But what do I know? I went on Amy's website. As a former "singer" I have to admire what she has done with her eye makeup. Her mom, must have played a lot of Petula Clark and old Cilla Black records, because she actaully can sing...well, the few lines I heard.

Which makes it that much sadder that she has an addiction to gas...no, I mean smoking crack.

Today, her doctor told her her lungs look pretty bad, she has emphysema and an irregular heart beat,---and if she continues to smoke drugs and being the all around party-hardy female Queen of Evil, she might not make it to her upcoming Birthday party for Nelson Mandela.

And Nelson, who spent all those years in prison, needs to hear the uplifting voice, of a strung out drug addict, about to keel over, young rock and roll singer.

Hey, it's his birthday, I say...go for it.

All I have left to say is the B=52's are still alive. That's all I have to say.

Amy...baby...call your mom, and can I have the mole?