PETA asks Ben & Jerry's to use breast milk

Woah...




4 days ago

MONTPELIER, Vt. (AP) — Ice cream made from breast milk? That's what the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals wants Ben & Jerry's Homemade Ice Cream to consider making.

The Virginia-based nonprofit group sent a letter to company co-founders Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield on Tuesday asking them to use human breast milk instead of cow's milk in their products.

PETA said the health of consumers and cows would benefit from the switch.

Ben & Jerry's spokesman Rob Michalak said the company applauds PETA's creative approach to bring attention to an issue, but believes that a mother's milk is best used by a child.

Information from: The Times Argus, http://www.timesargus.com/

Life's even tougher if I'm stupid...

Life is tough, but to quote one of my all-time favorite cowboy stars, John Wayne, "...It's even tougher if you're stupid."

Classic.

I actually have this quote cut out and posted on the bottom of my computer monitor.

So then, this begs the question, what does it really mean to be stupid?

I'll be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I'm not quite sure I even like the word really, but if John Wayne said it, well, I am more inclined to listen up and pay attention simply because Wayne had the kind of common sense and fortitude that demanded it.

Webster defines stupid as 'lacking or marked by lack of intellectual acuity.' Uh, OK. So I’ve known lots of people who I believed were a leaf short of a shamrock when sharing their thoughts or conclusions on a matter, but we all draw conclusions based on our own logic so what is stupid to me may not be stupid to her. What is stupid to him may not be stupid to you. So then the question still lingers, what does it mean to be stupid?

It's true: Maybe I need more to do in life than make the time to ask these kinds of questions. But nonetheless, I have been pondering this question lately and have come up with one answer I deem as acceptable: Perhaps being stupid means living and doing without thinking, eh? Stay with me – I know, I know. (And P.S. I mean really taking the time to think – without noise or distractions.This may mean we have to turn off the television or the cell phone. Uh oh.)

It happens in big cities. It happens in small prairie towns. I’ve looked around (or looked in the mirror from time to time) and have seen people scurrying about like mindless, non-thinking robots – doing something because everyone else is doing it or doing something out of habit without thought or only voting party line because Great Grandad belonged to a certain party and not out of conviction or doing something in haste without really thinking about any of the long-term consequences.

When I look back on my life and some things I have done that were just plain stupid (Here is Your Sign), I know that some of my actions could have been avoided had I chosen to stop, roll over and think about the situation before acting.

One of my best friends, who is one of the most common sense kind of people I know, has always stated, "If we would all just take a good 10 minutes a day to think, we'd all be better off." My friend is a voice of reason, though she laughs when I tell her this. But come on, if we are honest with ourselves, isn’t this the truth? Wouldn’t we all be at least a little better off? I know I would...
Knowledge is power – mostly power to begin a process of thinking for ourselves and not acting out of ignorance or stupidity. Maybe the age-old adage, ‘Ignorance is bliss’ isn’t exactly right on the money afterall.

Is ignorance really bliss? Well, I think ignorance is just ignorance and good old fashioned ignorance usually boils down to good old fashioned stupidity. So seeking knowledge in order to be less ignorant takes work. Knowledge is something we must all seek out for ourselves. We read books. We talk to and listen to people with opinions. We sit down with an old, common sense cowboy to learn a few things. We learn not to believe everything we hear. We read some more books. We get into a few debates about something other than whether or not the Broncos are going to make it to the Super Bowl in order to acquire the opinions and knowledge of others. We fall down, we learn, we get back up. We find out that that bandwagon we jumped on wasn't the right wagon to hitch a ride on afterall. We get stabbed in the back by somebody we thought was a friend. Well, we live and learn from that. And through it all, we learn to think. And then think some more – hopefully. And then hopefully, through thinking, we learn from our own mistakes or the mistakes of others and TA DAH! – make wiser decisions for a more fulfilling life. We’ll get right on that, right? Well, like my cowboy, common sense grandpa says, “It’s gonna take some work. But if anything is worth anything, a little work is in order.” I think I’m ready...

I am annoying – trust me. I think too much probably, and yet, I keep doing some blatantly obvious stupid things, which clearly shows I don't think enough and that I am human (which is understandable and maybe even more forgivable). But, my conscience won’t let me be. It still nags me to think just a little more.

In D.C., I had another quote cut out and posted on the bottom of my computer monitor, which was an old professor's prayer for me as I entered the land of the good, the bad, the ugly. 'Dear Kim, my main prayer for you is that you see matters in life as they really are, not what the powers-that-be tell you they are, lass.' This professor and I are still friends, and he still cracks me up with his sarcasm, his wit, his off-handed remarks and the fact that he calls me 'lass.' I appreciate that this professor dreamed (and still does) big dreams for me, but he knew I was a wide-eyed optimist who thought I could change the world, was naive and way too trusting at that point in my life. I can also appreciate the fact that this professor really challenged his students to think for ourselves and not take everything told to us at face value, which is the point of gaining an education in the first place, eh?

Besides, isn't learning to think for ourselves and become our own person with our own ideas and opinions what life should be about really? Wouldn't it be a total waste of time and life to wake up one day at age seventy, look into the mirror and say the thing we accomplished the most in life was...well....doing what everybody else did without knowing why? Maybe it would make more sense to stare down the barrel of an empty gun...

So if you, my fellow blog readers, don't see me jumping on any of the latest bandwagons in town – or across the country – or needing a stamp of approval from any certain type of person or see me at the library on a Friday night because (for that particular Friday night) I'd rather be huddled in the corner with a book (maybe gaining more knowledge or maybe just because the life of Teddy Roosevelt is so compelling) than go out and watch people get really stupid over too much beer, don't be alarmed. This is only a test. I repeat, this is only a test. Simply put, I'd rather be my own person and think for myself. At times, standing out in a crowd and choosing not to be like everybody else can make life tough. But to paraphrase Wayne: Life's even tougher if I'm stupid.

Breaking News....

I know in some circles it would be totally inappropriate to post this, but I think it's important. I mean, are they going to take this very important right from us next? You heard it here first...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/odd_flatulence_charge

Voice of reason...

Yup, had to post this from good Cal. What a voice of reason...


Cal Thomas: Hard lessons on living within financial means

By CAL THOMAS
Of Tribune Media Services
"Greed is good." (1987 film "Wall Street")

"Whoever loves money, never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless." (Ecclesiastes 5:10)

The financial "crisis" on Wall Street has provided another teachable moment. It turns out that greed is not good after all.

While the media and politicians blame the usual suspects, greed, like illicit sex, is not held in copyright by either party or political persuasion.

Barack Obama partially and predictably blamed the Bush administration, but it was the policies of the Clinton administration (as detailed in the Sept. 15 issue of Investors Business Daily) that sowed the seeds for the subprime mortgage collapse.

John McCain wants more regulations. What McCain should be demanding is an investigation, especially of those members of Congress who failed to provide oversight. It also wouldn't hurt to recommend more self-control and an embrace of the Puritan ethic of living within one's means.

Modern Western culture has been built on the success ethic, which says the acquisition of material wealth produces happiness and contentment and that the value of a life is to be measured not by one's character, but the size of his bank account, the square footage of his home, the cost of his clothes and the cars in his garage. The Puritan Thomas Watson addressed this notion when he said, "Blessedness ... does not lie in the acquisition of worldly things. Happiness cannot by any art of chemistry be extracted here."

The modern business ethic seems to be to make as much money as possible, but with little purpose for making that money other than to enhance the wealth and status of those who make it. No wonder Paul the Apostle wrote that "the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil" (1 Timothy 6:10). It isn't money itself that is evil. Money, like fire or firearms, can be used for good or ill, depending on the character of the person who possesses it. But money can be worshipped with as much fervency as that golden calf in Moses' time. In Dow we trust!

Part of our problem is a failure to distinguish between needs and wants. Until the last century, most people were familiar with the Puritan ethic of living within one's means. The Gilded Age in the late 19th century demonstrated the folly of rapacious living, yet the Roaring Twenties generation had to learn the lesson anew from the Great Depression.

When the forbidden fruit was handed to Adam and Eve, they were allowed the moral choice to accept or decline. I know people who have refused to feast on the money tree. They live simply, within their means, and seem far more content than those who are trying to horde their wealth while clinging to the ladder of "success," terrified to let go. That isn't real living. The Puritans rightly saw that as covetousness.

Cal Thomas writes for Tribune Media Services, 2225 Kenmore Ave., Suite 114, Buffalo, NY 14207, e-mail tmseditors@tribune.com.

Surrender is the name of the game

I met my first guitar teacher in an elevator.

He was carrying a guitar and an amp and seemed disheveled. His thick-rimmed glasses were perched perfectly at the end of his nose as he peered over the top of them and reached for button number 21. I lived on floor 22.

I decided to ask a very obvious question to get the ball rolling, because secretly, the ‘political girl’ inside me was itching to be ‘rock girl.’ Go figure. ‘So, do you play guitar?’ I asked.

‘No, I just carry these for fun,’ he said. I could, of course, appreciate his sarcasm and I laughed a little before offering, ‘OK, so that was an obvious question. But what I really mean is do you give lessons?’

‘That depends,’ he said. I could, of course, appreciate the fact that the old man seemed feisty.

‘Well, I’m Kim, and I’d like to take lessons from you.’ We were almost to floor 21.

The doors swung open and all the old man could say was, ‘I’ll see you around.’

But I am persistent and indeed, a little feisty myself, so for the next week, I stalked floor 21.
Eventually, I found the old man again, invited him over for ice cream cake and he agreed to be my guitar teacher.

His name is Bill. Bill is a retired government employee. Bill is, indeed, a guitar teacher. Bill is a song writer. Bill used to hang with Janis Joplin in Texas before she was famous. Bill is passionate. Bill can be moody and unpredictable. And above all else, Bill is a musician through and through – not batting an eye at spending an entire Saturday with his best friend: his guitar. Bill taught me, in our three years of friendship, that musicians are a breed of our own and that above all else, surrender (in many facets of life) is really the name of the game. Of course, he also taught me some on the guitar...

Now, there are always exceptions to the rule, the stereotype, the pigeon hole. And for any musician who may be offended at this particular column, I am more than sure that indeed, you must luckily be an exception to the rule. Of course you are an exception to the rule. That said, and also admitting that I, too, am a part of the stereotypical ‘breed,’ let me say again that musicians are a breed of our own.

In the past several years, especially in seeking out musicians for different musical projects I was working on or simply to sing with or to write music with, I have noticed that musicians tend to be unpredictable in more ways than one. Depending on the personality type, a musician may be unpredictable in being moody or not showing up for an event or not returning phone calls or may get a fit of inspiration to write a new song at 3 a.m. and not give it another thought that normal people are sleeping at this time and would prefer not to listen to the new song at such an hour. Many musicians I know can easily slip into a different world (the wonderful world of music) and zone out any other distractions, including work that needs to be done. These are just a few examples.

Though I have mellowed since my younger years, I am still a type A personality. Peek-a-boo. So I tend to be the organized musician who goes into obsessive compulsive mode when I hear an hour before a performance, “Kim, we don’t have our drummer. But no worries, we have a backup, so he’s listening to the songs now.” Can anybody else feel my heart pounding?

At something like this, I tend to get that crazy girl look in my eye and start pacing and talking to myself, ‘It’s gonna be fine. The new drummer will feel the groove and it always works out. Just breathe. Gulp.’ But interestingly enough, anytime something similar to this situation has occurred in my life, it seems to always work out. Because musicians also tend to be great improvisers. Many, that I can tell, are great at going with the flow (surrender), because no matter what happens, the show must go on, right? Right. And most people don’t recognize the kinds of mistakes that most musicians would notice anyway, which also happens to be one of our many 'musician breed' quirks, thank you very much.

Or take a for instance: a day before a performance, a fellow musician I was supposed to sing with disappeared off the face of the earth. No call. No email. Nothing. But, the show must go on and I did the performance by myself. Now mind you, again because I am a type A, when I see this musician next time (and I know there will be a next time), I may feel like cutting all the guitar strings on my fellow musician's favorite guitar, but I will not. No. Instead, I have surrendered, because I can’t change my fellow musician anyway, and I must remember the rules of the game. So I either surrender to the rules of the game or get an ulcer by the time I am 30. No thanks. Besides, most times my fellow musician shows up and also writes some really amazing songs.

So, for the sake of making a long story longer, I’ll get to the main point, because for Little Miss Type A, there is always a main point, but because of the Little Miss Musician in me, I usually get to the main point after taking the long way around. The VERY long way around. The point: surrender. The sweet art of surrender – realizing some things are just out of one's control, going with the flow, not getting so worked up over every little thing in life. Just let go, Little Miss Type A. Let it go.

Bill and I used to go to lunch after our Saturday guitar lessons, which some of my old D.C. roommates still say they miss witnessing because what really went on in guitar lessons was a bunch of bickering with a moody old man that I grew to love dearly. I’m still not too swift on the guitar, but I am functional. Had I played more guitar instead of bickered with Bill, I would be an expert by now I'm sure. But Bill was just so fun to bother.

And during these ‘lunch lessons,’ as I began calling them, no matter what was discussed, Bill would always end the conversation by annoyingly stating to me that I must learn to surrender. ‘Bill, what the heck does that mean? That’s so annoying. You have to back that up with something, my friend,’ I would holler over our Baja Fresh burritos. And he would pull down his glasses, peer over the rim and say, ‘You wouldn’t get it right now. You are young and think you know too much. But you will. You need to learn to surrender, kid,’ he’d say. And then I felt like cutting his guitar strings.

But Bill called last month (I hear from Bill via phone maybe once a year, though we have sent cards). This time, he only had ten minutes to talk. ‘How are ya, kid?’ ‘Hey Bill, I think I get it now.’ ‘That politicians are greedy (bad word)?’ ‘I’m saying that I think I get what it means to surrender. So thanks for that.’ He gave a laugh then said, ‘There’s a lot of things you just can’t control, kid. I’m sorry to hear your mom died. It's the same old thing here, but I have been writing a lot of music lately. It's the same old (bad word), different day. You know.’ Then he laughed.

We talked for another few minutes and he had to get back to writing a song. But it was really one of the best conversations I’ve ever had because it had the word surrender written all over it. There was surrender to the fact that Bill could only talk for ten minutes when we almost never talk and I needed a few more hours with him –not to mention a Baja Fresh burrito. There was surrender to the fact Bill always cusses in any conversation he is a part of, and I love him for it, though it used to drive me crazy. There was surrender to the fact that there really are so many things in life I cannot control, including the death of my mother. There was surrender to the fact that Bill had been right about more things than just my needing to learn surrender (my pride hasn't always gone down so easily). There was surrender to the fact that although I could tell Bill was kind of lonely (I know him well enough), I didn't feel like I had to fix his situation and make it all better by calling 10 of my DC friends and asking them to take an old man in for dinner, because that would have annoyed Bill anyway.

Bill was right: one of the biggest things we can learn in life is the art of surrender. It makes for less ulcers for sure. So many things in life are just out of our control. And I can't help but laugh that God used Bill and so many other musicians (and a few other incidents) to teach me how to simply let go and pick my battles in life. It's so much more freeing. I'm not saying I have lost all of my type A ways (and I have surrendered to the fact that I never will), but I am saying that I have learned that no matter what happens in life, the show will and must go on regardless.

Help me make it through the night

Kimmy singing one of her all-time FAVORITE songs at Bell Street Bridge Day :) I get a kick out of my faces when I sing :)

Handouts: something to be proud of?

It's easy for a person who has never struggled with an alcohol addiction to say, "Just put down the bottle."

It's easy for a person who has never struggled with wanting a man to think she's beautiful to say, "Just get over him."

It's easy for a person who has never struggled with being overweight to say, "Lay off the Twinkies."

It's easy for a person who has never struggled with obsessive compulsive disorder to say, "Stop counting the tiles in the bathroom."

It's easy for a person who has never financially struggled so far as to see how many pennies he/she can find under the couch cushions just to buy a gallon of milk to say, "Government handouts are not acceptable."

Which brings me to the topic of discussion: Government handouts – they can be a good thing. I could go on and on about the debate , but I won't. Instead, I'll try to be brief (God help me). (And by the way, I can see you – my more conservative-minded friends cringing and wondering if this here column will even be worth their time. Perhaps not. Perhaps you should stop reading now, because me, your other more conservative friend is going to speak about how government handouts can, indeed, be a good thing). (P.S. I always wanted to play that Martha Stewart 'good thing' card).

I have lived in places where people take a government handout like it's a badge of honor. And to this, let me say, I am certainly not a fan, and I do not think receiving a government handout is something to be proud of.

But on the other hand, I have, in my more political circles, been around people (and many of whom were admittedly born with a silver spoon in their hand) talk about the need to do away with all government handouts. And to this, let me say, I am certainly not a fan and do not think doing away with all government handouts is something to state quite so pompously.

Being too extreme on either side of the handout issue can be destructive, as with most situations in life (I've come to learn the hard way).

So perhaps it's more constructive to look at the idea of government handouts while trying to see both sides, which (let's face it) is next to impossible for most of us to do, but I'll give it a shot anyway.

Do I think immigrants surfaced Ellis Island asking, "Where is my handout?" I sure don't. As I see it, more than anything, immigrants flocked to America because they wanted the opportunity to turn a dream into a reality through a lot of hard work. America was and is a land of opportunity. This is the land where a dream can become a reality with enough hard work – the land that helps people help themselves.

But I have been to the grocery store lately. And I have seen very hard working people in the land of opportunity pay for their groceries with the only change they could find under their couch cushions. One man even needed another 25 cents just to buy milk. I have seen the embarrassment of a few people, again, who I know are hard working, try to hide the fact that they are paying with food stamps.

Hard work is something to be proud of. But sometimes hard work is just not enough, as I have so clearly seen in my 28 years.

Let's face it, life is not equal for everybody.

Sometimes, a government handout may be necessary, but let us all take heed to being the receiver as well, for it's also important to remember that government handouts were not meant to be drawn from for a lifetime. And, it's also important to note that the broader issue of receiving government handouts can mean citizens giving more power to the government by becoming more dependent on the government. Also, for some, being the receiver of the handouts can even lead to apathy and laziness and a lifetime mentality of getting something for nothing, which to me, is not at all what should represent being an American. But still, the point remains that sometimes, and for some very hard working people, receiving a government handout may be necessary. And furthermore, it's OK to be the one in need of a government handout.

I know, I bring up my mother too much. But you'll have to get over it. If she hadn't have been so darn fantastic, I wouldn't need to talk about her so. But she taught me some on the issue of government handouts, you see, and I feel her story so clearly depicts both sides.

My mom had to receive government handouts to make it through college and get her nursing degree while still providing for her girls. She did not receive her handouts like they were badges of honor, but in doing so, as a very young child, I learned two very important lessons from her actions: One, that it's OK to put down one's pride and receive a government handout if need be and Two, that government handouts should be used for a short time towards making yourself a better person, getting back on the right path and if you are not already, helping you towards eventually becoming a respectable, tax-paying citizen.

I know it killed my mother, who was one of the most prideful women I know, to take that first government handout check. But she did it because she had to. However, let me also say, my mother payed every cent back to that government handout office in North Dakota and more via taxes after she earned her degree, because she did, indeed, have her pride and was also an upstanding patriot.

I was too young to understand it then, but by taking the government handouts and then by paying back the handouts plus some, Mom was teaching her girls what it really meant to be American. Her actions, on a broader scale, taught me that America is certainly a land that helps people, which is something to be proud of, but even more importantly, Mom taught me that America is a land that helps people help themselves, which is really something to be proud of.

But I don't cry too pretty

The following is a recent column I wrote for the paper. I get a kick out of how many people, especially men, approach me and say they read my column. Well, at least some people gain something from my rambling :) (sorry about the spacing, and I will post the story on the Stradley family soon!)

I teared up when I saw that
the DCHS football team won their first game of the season Friday.

If
I hear of someone going out of their way to be kind, I get a lump in my
throat.

I tear up when I see babies.

If I'm happy, I cry. If I'm
sad, I cry. If I'm angry enough, I cry. If I'm proud, I cry.

Cry, cry,
cry. I can't help it, I'm just a girl I guess.

But I don't cry too
pretty.

I cry the same way I sneeze--neither are very ladylike and
both are embarrassing.

As a kid in the classroom, I can remember thinking
'Oh for the LOVE! NO! Here it comes. Oh gosh! Don't look at the light,
then maybe it will go away..' Then I'd get red, because I was already
embarrassed for what I knew was coming. Then, similar to the sound of
thunder, out it came: the ungodly sound of Kim's sneeze.
Dum-dum-dum.

Simply put, my sneezes are loud enough to wake the dead.

I can remember once in 8th grade, I decided I was going to try to be more ladylike
and hold in my sneeze just long enough for that cute, girly-sounding
sneeze to come out instead (like all the popular girls did). I felt one
coming on in history class and the moment was more than perfect, because
it was chalked full of all of my most popular classmates. In particular,
there was one boy I really wanted to impress.

But like so many other'perfect' moments in my life, the perfect one in 8th grade history
class went south. I tried walking myself through it: 'Here it comes, Kim.
Hold your breath. Pause. Now let go softly, cute and girly.' Instead, a
noise came out of my mouth that I can't even begin to describe really.
And to say the least, I felt ridiculous and embarrassed. No one was
impressed either, especially the boy. I could tell by the looks and the
snickering. One of my more impressive moments really...

And so my crying is similar to my sneezing: it's not pretty. I can't explain the
sounds that come out of me when I cry and try to talk, which is always a
wrong choice. It's a cacophony of sounds really - all mixed and jumbled
and loud and then the contorted face always follows. I can't help it. So
I try to spare people and cry alone unless I am crying with family who
have no choice but to love me or with very good friends, because my
good friends have proven themselves faithful anyway. But really, it takes
a special person to love Kim crying.

So knowing how I cry and that I cry easily, I made a very logical decision when I started my new job as a reporter six months ago: 'You will not cry during even the most touching interviews. No Mam. Not acceptable.'

But silly self too often prevails no matter how I try to think and feel logically. Again, I'm just a girl I guess.

The first cry was with a bus driver who had just lost
a parent (as in a day or so before the interview). We were sitting at
her table having coffee and we were sharing our stories. I thought my
interview was fairly 'small fries' compared to all she had been through
in the previous few days. I was touched that she still went out of her
way to do an interview. I was touched at her genuine love for the
students who rode her bus. I was touched by her sweet spirit and that she was
so open and willing to discuss personal things. Of course I cried, OF
COURSE I cried.

The second cry was with a young man who I knew only a
little about and who many people thought would go nowhere, but in the
interview he seemed a changed man thanks to the love of what sounded
like some really neat Christians at a Christian high school and his new
walk with Jesus. His maturity and humility were humbling to me. And it
may sound strange, but I had seen the young man before his days of
change, and the change in his eyes alone were enough to convince me that his
life was on a better path. I was touched at this young man's strength.
I was reminded that showing love matters. I was able to manage the
lump in my throat all the way through the interview, but had to wipe away
my tears while writing the story.

The third cry was with a young girl who used to be bullied at school and started doing Tae Kwon Do because she wanted to defend herself. It's when she told me since starting TKD, she has learned more patience with her sick mother. This little girl
wasn't playing martyr. She wasn't looking for pity. She was strong and
brave. Though she admitted to still being teased by classmates for being
in TKD (and I know what it feels like to be teased mercilessly for
being different), she very matter of factly just said, "They just don't
understand." And I kept prying, 'It doesn't make you mad?' And she,
again, in a very matter of fact way offered, "No."

And the fourth cry was during the interview featured on this issue of the Ranger Review's Insider. All I can say is I felt the love--from the family cat licking my
arm to baby Grace sitting on my lap and wanting to cuddle. I think
adopting is noble. I think the Stradleys are tremendous human beings for
following through with what they felt called to do.

So I'll tell myself again, 'Kim, don't cry. It is so ugly for someone to see you cry.' But you'll forgive me if I do, because everybody has a story, I don't care
who they are or where they come from. And though every story might not
make me cry (thank goodness), I am only reminded as I work as a
reporter that we're all in this messy thing called life together. I am
convinced that if I would take a little more time to share my own narrative or
to hear someone else's narrative, that I would discover more stories
about someone else's hurt. I would discover another another changed
young man or even discover that another little girl, who helps her sick
mother, is a little hero in her own way--and lives just down the street.

Paris ain't got nothin' on me...

This is the new jam session y'all:) We're called The Culprits and we have a wholelotta fun!!! I just finished a new song I started in jail, and we're going to start working on it for our next gig. It's posted below:


God made me a woman
Gave me curves like He thought he should
Girls like me might not make it big in Hollywood
But that's OK you see
'Cuz everything in life is a trade
See on the one hand you might have Hilton premadonna
But on the other hand
She ain't got no brains

So if I've never taken the time to tell ya
Let me go ahead and tell ya now
Ain't ever gonna look like Barbie
No way, no how
I'm just an average lookin' country girl
And what ya get, is what ya see
But that Paris, well
She ain't got
Nothin' on me

Chorus:
'Cuz I've spent more time in the slammer
I ain't signed by no label, but I bet that I could sing better
I don't say bitchin', and I ain't livin'
Off daddy's money, (ha!) but call me honey
Cuz that Paris
She ain't got
Nothin' on me
Ya, ya, ya
Well that Paris
She ain't got
Nothin' on me

Bridge:
Don't wanna be misunderstood
Try and give credit where credit is due
She's clever in her own way
She's supermodel every day
Even bailed a little hay
That--a--girl!
But still Paris, well
She ain't got
Nothin' on me

Chorus

No sex videos, airhead commercials
I don't live in Prada, (ha!) just call me mamma
Well that Paris
She ain't got
Nothin' on me
I ain't easy
Well that Paris
She ain't got
Nothin' on me