WALKING DOWN THE EMERALD AISLE

By Risë Birnbaum

Is it the Guinness, the whiskey, or the Irish Spring hotel soap that’s gone to Kaitlyn’s head?  Not sure, but this dimwit bachelorette just let one good, hot guy walk out the castle door.  It’s no secret anymore that handsome, heartthrob Ben Higgins was given the boot and has already been crowned the next Bachelor-in-waiting.   Ben, in that fisherman sweater, was one shade away from Christian Gray.  Can you even imagine the line of beautiful women waiting to get their hands on him next season?  If I were just a little younger 😉

Meantime, Kaitlyn (who’s slept with just about every Bachelor and maybe even Chris Harrison) continues to make dumb mistakes and then cry about them.  Between her non-stop laughing and endless sobbing, Kaitlyn should be having a one-on-one with the on-set shrink.

So, Kaitlyn is left with two guys:  Nick V. who cried on the couch when Andi Dorfman dumped him last season, and Shawn B., the jacked and slightly unhinged trainer, who’s about to turn Nick’s head into ground meat.  Kaitlyn’s apparently very torn between the two, because she lets us know every 5 minutes.  Nick’s had an extra bed session with Kaitlyn, but we’re not yet sure if that works to his advantage.  And Kaitlyn did get to see Shawn’s putter on the golf course before she stayed in the fantasy suite with him that night.  Hole in one.

As for family time, both families seemed OK, with Nick’s mother definitely worried that Nick’s head might explode if he comes in 2nd again this season.  So were his 18 brothers and sisters.

Next week Kaitlyn takes the hot seat (looking forward to Ian from Princeton reminding her how shallow she is) and then it’s on to the finale.

My guess on who Kaitlyn winds up with?  Think it’s Shawn, who’s been nursing booze and an unhealthy attachment to Kaitlyn these past few weeks.  As for Nick?  It’s a really good thing there’s a pub nearby.

zcomm Moves Headquarters to Washington D.C.

National Marcomm Agency Expands and Changes Address

WASHINGTON, DC – Coinciding with zcomm’s 24th year in business, the national PR and marketing agency has moved its headquarters from Bethesda, Maryland to Washington, DC. zcomm’s new address is: 910 17th Street, NW, Suite 1190, Washington, DC, 20006.

Twinkie Fever

Twinkie Fever

By Risë Birnbaum

They’re back.  Those spongy, springy vanilla cakes loaded with creamy filling.  Fans are rushing the stores for the addictive cello-wrapped favorites, but some are not so thrilled.  It seems they’re a bit smaller than they were in 2012.  Back then, a box of twinkies weighed a hefty 15 ounces.  Now they weigh 13.58 ounces.  But, Hostess says the boxes are virtually the same as when they went out of business so I guess case closed.

Without Z There are No Zombies

Put a stake in it vampires, you’re done, ‘cause Zombies have taken center stage.  Wassup with our never-ending love of zombies?  I know its Halloween and all, but I can barely click 10 stations in any direction without stumbling across one of those lurching, rotting creatures just dying for a taste of (my) liver.  I mean this is no Food Network challenge.  This is a bunch of very hungry, post-apocalyptic dudes looking to tear you and me from limb to limb and eat us carpaccio.  They’re not big on roasting.

I admit I watch The Walking Dead.  I don’t exactly know why (but it might have something to do with the hunky sheriff Rick).  I like seeing the special effects and watching the gang of humans squash the zombies like bugs in all kinds of novel ways.  There are picks and machetes and bayonets (yup the b word again) and poles and arrows and axes…you name it and this gang uses it to put the zombies out of their ever lovin’ misery.

Zombies have been around for a while.  I know this for a fact.  There’s the Night of the Living Dead which forced me to use a nightlight well into my 20s, Zombieland, Shaun of the Dead and 28 Days Later for starters.  And now with almost a full moon and Halloween, the streets will be teeming with them.

I’ve always found it interesting that these kidney-eating monsters don’t really move that fast.  I mean, a snail has a chance at a get-away if the zombie gets a taste for escargot.  So, all ya really need is to avoid their bite while you drill them with a nail gun.  If you’re bitten, you’re kinda screwed cause then you’ll turn into a zombie, too, and shamble around in very dirty clothes looking for your next al dente meal.

And if you see some tonight, or some other night, walking in slo-mo and dripping blood?  Got two words for you — RUN FAST.

Lance Armstrong- What a Dope!

Lance has taken quite a spill and chances are really good he won’t be getting up from the ground anytime soon.

It’s amazing how much wool this guy pulled over everyone’s eyes. Not sure there are any sheep left. And it’s great that his early tattlers now have major street cred.

It’s true the guy had cancer and beat it, but that’s the only thing he honestly ever beat.  He’s been totally stripped of his 7 Tour de France titles and banished from the NY and Boston marathon books, too.

The guy is just a cheat, along with lots of his biker buddies.

I used to watch the Tour de France amazed at these ironmen with legs of steel able to pedal to a medal. But, now the entire world knows it was all a fake. His pedal-power was fueled by just the right amount of steroids to become superman without showing up on a blood test.  This was one cagey biker.

In the PR profession we’d probably counsel Lance to lay low for a long time and then spend the rest of his life doing charity work.  Oh, wait a minute…Lance already has a charity!  And he didn’t do LIVESTRONG any favors by ruining his good name.  And that name is being erased from the sides of bikes, helmets, jerseys and energy bars (so I just made that one up) even as I blog.

What was he thinkin’? Guess is he just wanted to be a winner and was willing to do whatever it took to get him to the medal stand. What a dope!

Lance not only gave pro cycling a black eye, but he also spoiled the sport for all the weekend warriors who strap on their helmets and ride 10 or 20 miles.

If I were Lance?  I’d grow a beard, grab my passport and leave town for a long time. It’s time for Lance to ride into the sunset and never show his smug mug again.