Well, why not?

On Friday, while running around town, I saw a bumper sticker for a local business that's always amused and frightened me -- "Cheer Station" -- which I imagine as a scary Gestapo boot camp for robo-Barbies overdosed on pep. We joke about it among our friends, suggesting that The Jackal probably tailgates there on weekends... Anyhoo, I'd never seen the bumper sticker before. On Friday, I saw an SUV (natch) with one on it, only I misread it. "Cher Station" is what I read. And then I thought, well, why not? I mean really. Baby drag queens need a place to fine-tune their Fabulash, as much as any 14-year-old Amber needs somewhere to hone her herkeys. So if this advertising thing doesn't work out for me, I'm opening a Cher Station.