We here at The Black Table are world travelers, and this last weekend, we hopped the Chinatown bus to Washington D.C. to watch some baseball and drink until our anuses couldn't pass a breathalyzer. Since we're not in the know, like, at all, we had no idea that there was a smattering of protests and marches going on in our nation's capital this weekend. Now, we're hardly political here; once you get past "Legalize Weed! … (or something)" and "Save OJ!" we don't know nothin' about nothin'. But we did ride the bus back with some fired-up people. In fact, two of them had a three-hour argument on female reproductive rights, which commenced somewhere in Delaware and ended just outside Secaucus. A random sampling:

Idealistic College Student: I don't want the government to tell me what to do with my body!

Pervy Old Man: That's my job, missy.

Idealistic College Student: What's that supposed to mean?

Pervy Old Man: The answer is in my pants.

Political discourse … it's FAN-tastic!

WHAT DO WE WANT? 10 BRAND-NEW BLACK LIST REVIEWS! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? RIGHT NOW! HOW DO WE SUBMIT OUR OWN REVIEWS IN THE FUTURE? USING THE NIFTY APPLET ON THE SIDE! WHY DO WE WANT IT?

Um, we're not sure actually. We're lonely?

--BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

THE REARVIEW MIRROR ON MY OFFICE COMPUTER MONITOR: My desk has very bad feng shui. It's the first one of a very ugly, gray cube structure around the corner from the CEO's office. Trying to concentrate in an overcrowded office space that doesn't have enough rooms for conference calls can be difficult, and sometimes the only way I can get anything done is to block out the din with music. But if I can't hear them coming, I don't know when to toggle back to the work at hand. That is, I couldn't until the rear-view mirror appeared on my desk -- a gift from a sympathetic colleague. The plastic, spherical looking glass comes with Velcro strips that adhere to the corner of the monitor. Best of all, the wide-angled mirror is adjustable like the rear-view mirror of a car, allowing me a better view for the days when I can't hear the footsteps on the carpet. A -- Christy G

FORMER STARS WHO WANT YOU TO BE SAVED: Back in the days when Tiger Beat and Teen

Beat were major staples in my little adolescent life, Kirk Cameron posters ripped from the pages were near and dear to my heart. (I had yet to realize the no-no that is curly mullets.) But the times, they have a-changed. On his website, Kirk confronts you with the question, "Who do you know who has not yet been saved?" He also talks about the non-saved going to hell. The fuck?!? Mike Seaver is gonna save me? The guy with a best friend named Boner? The creepiest part about this is the mini-Kirk on the Web site who floats about, asking questions. I thought Buddy Lembeck as Bibleman was weird. I mean, the purple superhero costume and all. I almost wished Kirk had a costume too, so I would be a little more amused and a lot less, um, frightened. I'm all for keeping the faith, but using your long gone fame to try to "save" people via the web? At what Hollywood party did Kirk look around and realize he had better get saved or he might have to sell his soul to the devil? Celebs who try to coax you into things in the hope that you might actually still like them due to your own retarded nostalgia. F -- haley

"KITCHEN FRESH CHICKEN": The new advertising campaign for KFC is "Kitchen Fresh Chicken." It's not Kentucky Fried Chicken, because fried chicken is unhealthy, and it scares people away. The chicken is, of course, still fried. What does "Kitchen Fresh Chicken" mean, anyway? Does it mean that it was made in a kitchen rather than in the alley behind the restaurant? I'm sure this is a big relief to all of us, and it sure says a lot of about the healthy nature of KFC. Just remember, next time you feel like eating some fried chicken and hesitate because it's unhealthy, it's not Kentucky Fried. It's Kitchen Fresh! D -- Sam Jack

THE KINGDOM HOLDINGS COMPANY: Have you seen those new television ads for the "Kingdom Holdings Company"? The gist seems to be that there is some shadowy company in Saudi Arabia that mysteriously owns everything. Or at least "holds" everything. Who are these people? How come we've never heard of them before? Why are their grubby little paws all over everything? And why the hell are they bragging about investing in EuroDisney? The ad doesn't even seem to be FOR anything. The entire message is just: Hey there America! Don't let us make you nervous! We're holding all your shit, but don't worry your pretty little heads about it, 'cause we're the GOOD Bin Ladens! What is the point of being a shadowy cabal if you're going to go and make a commercial for yourself? There's a reason you don't see slogans like "Masons: Only Drinking the Blood of Non-Christian Babies!" or "Knights Templar: Secretly Controlling All World Events With the Holy Grail Which is Actually Some Sort of Alien Mind Defibrillator Since AD 33!" Kingdom Holdings Company: Quit creeping me out. At least RJ Reynolds has the decency to whistle innocently and pretend not to exist. Geez. D- -- Audrey Ference

SO HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND?: You don't remember? I can't believe you did that. Well, I suppose it's better that you don't remember cartwheeling naked through that soccer game with sparklers stuffed up your ass, because you almost burned down one of the nets. Yeah. It was rad until one of the coaches stomped you pretty hard in the groin with cleats on. Yeah, that's why your crotch hurts. Wait. It could have also happened later that day, when you let that middle-aged man with braces give you head by the dumpster. I know. It sounds worse than it is, though. In the pictures, it almost seems like a tender moment, except for the fact your dick was poking through that Happy Meal container. It's probably best for you to avoid Jagermeister shots at brunch, but hey, what else are you gonna do with your weekend? Sometimes you need to let the monster out. C+ -- Eric Gillin

AU BON PAIN SELF-SERVE COFFEE BAR: People are simple. Predictable. Especially when it comes to serving themselves their morning coffee. First they will need a cup, then coffee with which to fill it. Subsequently, some will cast about for milk and sugar (or their chemically engineered equivalents) and a stirrer of some sort. Most people will also require a trash receptacle. Finally, the would-be coffee consumer may want a lid to protect them from bodily or sartorial harm. With only a modicum of forethought, your average coffee bar manager should be able to organize each of these elements in such a way as to create an easy, mellifluous flow out of the potential chaos that is their morning rush. So why, Au Bon Pain, do you insist on such an arcane and tortuous arrangement -- slightly, devilishly different at every store -- so painful as to make me wonder if I am part of some sinister corporate lab experiment? WHY? Eff you, I mean: F -- alex

SMOKING A PIPE: The first experience I had with burning a dead plant in my mouth was smoking a cigar on the last day of high school, and as unpleasant as that was, I've made something of a habit out of the occasional smoke. But let's face it -- cigarettes are nasty. They just smell and taste bad. You have cloves, sure, but those'll kill you even faster, and come on, what country do we live in, anyway? So I bought a pipe.

Benefits: Smells and tastes about 3.7 thousand times better than a cigarette. Actually makes you look cool, in that old-fashioned elitist sort of way. Reading or discussing literature becomes just a little more awesome.

Detriments: Takes longer to prepare and then to partake of than cigarettes, or even cigars, so one does it less often. (Wait, that sounds like a benefit!) Only downside I can see is the extra maintenance required; packing, lighting, cleaning and so forth. In the end, though, when you've got a pipe, smoking is less about fucking up your lungs for the sake of a hit of nicotine and more about fun. B+ -- Paul Scheible

SHITTY BLOGGER IMAGERY: I read personal blogs for self-flagellatory purposes. A recent (awful) trend pops up in a sentence like this (insipid blogger will remain nameless): "I just did that thing where I puked in my mouth and swallowed, that's how excited I am." Has anyone in the history of anywhere ever been so excited about something they vomited in their mouth? You don't do that when you're amped about something's awesomeness. You do that when you have a nasty case of heartburn. And how could you associate something good with something like puke? Bloggers, please find a new phrase. I don't expect it to be good, but it should at least be apt. F -- Aileen Gallagher

FAT GUYS WITH SKINNY GIRLS (ON TELEVISION, AND OTHERWISE): I refused to believe that all the women in TV land are now chubby chasers. According to Jim, he should have Courtney Thorne-Smith on his side; according to me, he should have Star Jones. Sorry folks, but fat men are made for fat women; there's no way that Leah Remeni could understand why Kevin James is hoofing down a bag of Cheetos at 3 a.m. like there's gold at the bottom. What happened to the good old days, when fat couples like Roseanne and John Goodman were destined for joint gastric bypass operations? I hate to begrudge the larger men of America a hot wife with a smoking bod … but they don't deserve them. If you eat a lot and don't exercise, you get a mate that does the same. Fair is fair. It's karma, really. Or perhaps I'm just nervous that this trend will translate to reality, and all the skinny women will steal the fatty men and I'll have no one to date in the future. Sigh. D -- katie

GUY ON GUY "TITTY TWISTERS": Mostly unprovoked, completely uncalled for. You're innocently walking onto the scene and see an incoming friend. You reach out for a handshake when, lo and behold, he bypasses your hand and reaches for your chest. Hand. Fingers. Gripping. Nipple. Turn the dial to 450 degrees. By this time, it's already too late, and you've fallen victim to life's cruel twists. Your eyes widen, your nipples ache and you start the usual "What the hell" rampage. And all your friend can say is: "Come on, I'm only joking." Now you've got a quandary -- should you escalate this "joke," or just let bygones be bygones and let your nipple pain go unavenged? You resolve to kick said friend in the shins as hard as you can and declare "Shin Splints!" and run away screaming like a banshee. He's writhing on the floor mirroring your "What the hell" rampage, but he should know better; it was only a joke. D+ -- Paul Chan

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