I’m not Catholic, so somebody will correct me if I’m wrong, but everybody knows you don’t drink the holy water, right?

The half-liter bottles of Holy Drinking Water are being distributed by Wayne Enterprises. They only carry the blessings of Catholic and Anglican priests, but company president Brian Germann plans to expand to other faiths.

Query: What “other faiths” give out blessings of physical substances that anybody actually believes have a tangible effect? (That’s not rhetorical. I’m actually wondering.)

Dear Ann Coulter: Funny is not my first language. I’m not a funny speaker or writer. So if even I can come up with the joke that would’ve made your point without making an ass of you, you should have been able to too. As Holmes says, “Here, for example, is a possible and even probable one. I make you a free present of it.”

“So it turns out there’s a rule, if you say the word ‘faggot,’ you have to go to rehab. That is, if you deny having called someone a ‘faggot,’ you have to go to rehab. For denying it. Well, I guess that’s fair–some of us wanted Bill Clinton to go to jail for denying he had sexual relations with that woman.”

Of course, it doesn’t take a cheap shot at John Edwards, so you’d have needed to figure out another one for that and probably have gotten in just as much trouble, but damn it, grow up and find a better way to gut the thought police. That, I’m all in favor of. Just do it smarter. Please. You are finally running out of goodwill even with your [former] fans.

Worst. Year. Ever. for sickness. Since about October or November, The Bean and I have been hit with whatever’s going around and then some. January was the worst ever. Flu for him, flu for me, cold for him, sinus infection for me … cold for me. Worst ever.

Until February. Starting last week, it was like this: Flu for him. Flu for me. Chipper recovery for him, though a lingering cough prevented him going back to preschool (which he just started on Feb. 1 after January’s round, I might add). Disgusting mystery illness for me that involved progressively worsening nausea and the nastiness that goes with that. The only reason the blog had anything was because I was bedridden–just put a few things up whenever I felt well enough. My mother’s here now taking care of us, and she doesn’t fly 2000 miles across the country for little trifling colds. We are sick as dogs. I’m on the mend, but it’ll come slowly. Meanwhile, just as I am beginning the upswing a bit, the boy comes down with high fever and a stomach bug.

I swear, if I start throwing up again I will hunt down and kill the person who gave us this one. As soon as we are well, we are getting the hell out of this infested hive of a state where the temperature doesn’t freeze anything to death even in the dead of winter and going out to my mother’s country place. In North Carolina. Far from many of the things of man. Far from noise and disease-ridden human beings. To bring out that old saw, I am sick and tired of being sick and fracking tired. No CPAC for me. No nothing much for me, including food.

At least I’m well enough to feel like watching a movie. Mom hasn’t yet seen The Illusionist. Edward Norton is positively mesmerizing. Mmm, Edward Norton.