My (John Mark) Karr is in Overdrive

So I wanted to make my first contribution to Shalomy the Potato a light-hearted piece on reality TV (Tina Yothers on Celebrity Fit Club 4? You go on with your badass self, girlfriend! Holla!) or a look at the hottest fall fashions (pair leggings with a hot denim miniskirt for a fab autumn look!)

But before I touch on those two very important topics, I need to get something off my chest: I need someone to get this mother f-ing John Mark Karr off my mother f-ing TV screen (and that, my friends, will be the last terrible Snakes on a Plane reference I will make. Until tomorrow. I'm sorry, I just can't resist. Apparently, neither can the New York Post. It's Snakes on a Plane mania, people!)

But I digress. Seriously, I get why people are so in a tizzy about him--he's (maybe!) the guy who (maybe!) killed a beauty queen a decade ago. It's a hot story. It's really sad that a little girl got killed, and if he actually did it, people can have some closure. He's a creepy car wreck of a dude--you don't want to look at him, yet you can't look away.

But the whole thing is a little out of control. Like, I get the feeling that President Bush could be assassinated by a tag team (back again, check it to wreck it, let's begin) of Fidel Castro and Ariel Sharon, who healed from their respective ailments with the help of Uncle Fidel's Happy Fun Time Magical Awesome Elixir, and somehow John Mark Karr and his creepy dead stare would still end up on the front page of the paper.

And I hate it, because I have somehow gotten sucked into the insanity. Like, the other day I found myself looking at the picture they keep showing of him in the Thai airport, and I was all, "Brother could use a belt." It took 2.2 seconds to think that thought, 2.2 seconds I could have used to save a kitten caught in a tree or tend to a dying flower.

And I've somehow become fascinated by his name. There's something about guys who use two first names that is really interesting to me. I spent 15 minutes at work today sticking his name into song titles. Because I'm weird (and my job is boring). Here is what I came up with:

Get out of my dreams, and into my (John Mark) Karr
(John Mark) Karr-ma Karr-ma Karr-ma Kar-ma Kar-ma Chameleon
Baby, you can drive my (John Mark) Karr
(John Mark) Karr you, (John Mark) Karr me, say it together, that's the way it should be
(I took some liberties with the last one).

Anyway, the bottom line is, let's find out if the Prince of Creep City did it and then move on with our lives. So I can spend less time worrying about John Mark Karr's belt situation and spend more time rocking out to Paris Hilton's new album. Now that is some good shit!!