Martha, Martha, Martha

I'm outside the federal courthouse in New York City, along with a zillion news crews waiting to find out Martha Stewart's fate. Personally, I hope the bitch fries. (And I think, from now on, I should end all of my posts with "I hope the bitch fries.") But not only that; I'm absolutely sick of Martha's defenders with their signs and decorating tips and conspiracy theories — "She's only being prosecuted because she's a celebrity." "She's only being prosecuted because she's a powerful woman." Bullshit. She's being prosecuted because she's a criminal, moron.

I can't even comprehend where all this munificence toward Martha is coming from. If you walked out of K-Mart carrying sixty-thousand dollars worth of Martha Steward Living Easthampton-style linens under your shirt, you'd be arrested and you'd go to jail, and you wouldn't see Martha coming to the courthouse, filing an amicus brief in your defense. She'd probably pop a cap in your ass and then go back to P. Diddy's bling-bling party.