So the boomers got older, allegedly acquired some sense, and became less inviting targets to marketers. Now you still do see some products being specifically targeted to oldsters….sexy adult diapers? Eek, gag, yecch! Condo in Boca? But a lot of products that boomers had traditionally thought were being marketed to them are now being sold to people who hadn’t yet been conceived when the boomers hit middle age.

Movies are the most obvious example. If you look at the American Film Institute’s list of the top 100 films of all time, the vast majority of them are oriented towards an adult audience. If you turn on your TV or open a newspaper today, you’ll see the advertisements are for films based on childrens' toys and comic books, not exactly adult fare. So if you see a boomer at a theater purchasing a ticket for a TRANSFORMERS movie, you’d better make a call. Someone’s wandered away from the “home” in search of an early bird special and is about to get even more confused and could possibly have a flashback to the time he took acid and went to see The Exorcist.”

PLAYBOY magazine used to have a couple pages of book reviews and a couple pages of movie reviews that were interesting to people who had more in mind than T and A. Now it has one paragraph of each and several pages of video game reviews. The other stuff remains the same, but we know their target audience is too young to legally purchase the magazine.

Now Miller Lite beer seems to be putting a full court press on the frat crowd. You know what college kids do with beer… they pour it into themselves as quickly as possible and they’ve invented ingenious delivery systems to do so. The Miller people have produced a lid for their can that is so soft it can be punctured by anything more substantial than a piece of overcooked linguini, thus venting the can in such a way as to allow the fluid to flow into the consumer with speed rivaling the velocity it reaches when it comes back up.

You go Miller Lite!

The story is a tale so utterly tawdry that it should be a TV movie on one of those obscure networks that you come across by accident, and wonder who the hell watches that stuff.

Edwards, in what can only be described as a spectacular lack of impulse control, impregnated a woman who was not the, dying of cancer, Mrs. Edwards. The Senator and some of his supporters, for some reason, felt that knowledge of this circumstance could possibly damage his image and affect his chances of being elected President.

So the candidate’s Ambien and booze-addled aide, Andrew Young, along with his less than enthusiastic wife, were tasked with keeping the pregnant floozy quiet and out of sight. Wife, Cheri Young, stated, “keeping the scumbag’s despicable affair under wraps was my duty as a good American.”

Supporters then coughed up a million bucks. Some of it was used for tramp control but most of the money was skimmed off by Young to build his new 1.5 million dollar dream house. The question is, was the dough a campaign contribution, or was it just a gift to Mr. Edwards to keep the bimbo in limbo? Whose money was Young stealing? And why isn’t he on trial? Was any of the money used for a baby shower?

No matter... we’re excited to announce that Andrew Young has been crowned “Miss Weaselfest 2012”… it was the personality competition that sewed it up for him.

When reached for comment, former candidate Newt Gingrich complained, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about…you dicks.”

Murdoch’s dilemma stems from some dubious activities by people working for his newspapers. It seems that they hacked into phones and emails of everyone from celebrities to victims of terrible crimes. Murdoch claims to have had no knowledge of the vile behavior, “Not me,” he exclaimed as he batted eyes canopied by false lashes and fetching thalo blue eye shadow. “Everyone knows that I got where I am by not having the slightest idea of what my subordinates are up to.”

Hence, Murdoch has been going the “theya culpa” route. “There was a cover-up and I am the victim! I didn’t do nutten, but I take responsibility anyway,” exclaimed the 81 year old zillionaire, sporting a tailored navy pantsuit, a pair of stunning red patent leather pumps and matching bag.

As Mr. Murdoch compulsively fingered a chic set of screw back, diamond and pearl chandelier earrings, he explained that his employees were “scum,” and that if the Board of Enquiry had a bus he’d be happy to throw them under it. “I’m a man in the mold of Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst,” he sputtered. Hearst and Pulitzer are generally given credit for inventing yellow journalism.

Wife Wendi Deng, clad in black latex from neck to toe, with a small laptop and stack of ninja stars in front of her, sat quietly beside her husband, fondling a cat-o-nine-tails and glaring at the members of the board.

The swelling ranks of the elderly are putting a strain on the entire society, so now it’s up to senior citizens to find ways to cut costs. For instance, if you’re worried about your heart, instead of going to a high priced heart specialist, just decide that this is the ideal time to put in that patio you’ve always wanted. Get yourself a ton of road base, half a ton of sand and a ton of flagstones and go at it. If by the time you’ve moved all that material around you haven’t had a coronary, your heart is fine. If you do have a heart attack and die, well, now you know. Either way, you have a new patio.

The SSA itself has begun to resemble a sleazy shell game in which, if you ask the exact same question of ten different SSA agents, you get ten different answers. The only conclusion one can draw is that not only does the left hand not know what the right hand is doing, the left hand doesn’t have the slightest idea what the left hand is doing either.

Caught like rats in a bureaucratic maze, the baffled boomer may confuse dealing with the government with early onset dementia. This may be the government’s plan.

While President Obama and the Democrats fret over a solution to the Social Security dilemma, the strongly anti-entitlement Republicans point out that they don’t care. “We’re rich, you idiot,” declared Speaker of the House John Boehner. He continued, “even the tallest person was once short,” and began to sob uncontrollably.

Bowlton went on, “when George H.W. was asked by Romney for an endorsement and then received one, it was the final straw. It seemed to break W’s spirit.” He said to me, and I quote, 'Are dhis wit it will be lik from now on?' I could barely hold back the tears,” Bowlton confessed. “So some of us thought The Tattler interview would be just what the doctor ordered.”

We were to meet President Bush at Sam's Barber Shop in the middle of Crawford’s three block downtown area. A sparse, barren place, it’s said to closely resemble the inside of the former president’s brain. Sam's was selected as a neutral venue as Mr. Bush’s secret service detail occasionally has difficulty distinguishing members of the liberal media from those silhouette targets they use for practice in the President’s back yard.

When we caught up with the former leader of the free world he had just finished having his ears lowered and was delighted to find that April was half price month at Sam’s, and haircuts were only $8. “At that price I’ll be back tomorrow for another one,” He gushed. “Mebby every day 'til May,” the frugal, unemployed politician speculated.

Sam the barber beamed, “It looks like this is one of those promotions that’s really going to pay off.”