Sandra Bullock was named “People” magazine’s “World’s Most Beautiful Woman.” Better luck next year, Bruce Jenner.

Leaked Sony E-mails revealed Ben Affleck asked to have his slave-owner ancestors omitted from the PBS show “Finding Your Roots.” And Affleck’s ancestors asked to have Affleck omitted for starring in “Gigli.” 

- Written by O'Snake, Mark O'Connor (see what I did there, Conan writers? When I used someone else's joke, I gave them credit) 

At the “Time” magazine 100 Gala in New York, comedian, Amy Schumer, pranked Kim Kardashian and Kanye West by falling in front of them on the red carpet. While Kanye thought it was funny, he said Beyonce would have bounced better.

The first pictures of Bruce Jenner in a dress have been leaked. Now, I could have gone a long time without hearing the words Bruce Jenner, dress and leaked used together.

Sandra Bullock was named “People” magazine’s “World’s Most Beautiful Woman.”

Think of the pressure the title “”World’s Most Beautiful Woman,” brings with it. Walk out of a bathroom with toilet paper on your heel and it’s;

“You’re the World’s Most Beautiful Woman?”

Get spinach in your teeth and it’s;

“You’re the World’s Most Beautiful Woman?”

Down an entire pint of Ben And Jerry’s in your “I’m with stupid” t-shirt and sweats-with-holes and your hair in a messy up-do with hair removal cream on your upper lip and it’s;

“You’re the World’s Most Beautiful Woman?”

Since you asked:

Amy Schumer shows David Letterman her fake vagina upper leg surfing scar. Amy Schumer’s show “Inside Amy Schumer” debuts it’s third season on “Comedy Central” with absolutely brilliant skits. Amy Schumer prank pratfalls upstaging Kim and Kanye on the “Time” red carpet.

It’s always Amy. Amy, Amy, Amy.

Among the brilliant skits on “IAS” is a parity of booty videos using the children’s naughty rhyme “Milk, Milk, Lemonade.” (Around the corner fudge is made)

That brought back such a vivid memory.

When I was about six or seven, right about when we moved from Cherry Street in bucolic Winnetka to Elm Street, which was two years after we moved from Louisville, I was quite the little player with the laaaaaaaaadies.

If you know what I mean . . .

There was little Debbie down the street with whom I liked to play “Daniel Boone.”  Which meant capturing her, like I was a Cherokee, and tying her to a pole in her basement with her jump rope. 

In her underwear.

(One of the writers for Daniel Boone had to be into S&M. Almost every episode featured women captured and tied up)

After word of our "Daniel Boone" game got out - thanks to my rat-fink brother, John -   I wasn’t allowed to play at little Debbie’s.

My serious girlfriend at this time was Roberta ( my mom said I pronounced her name Whoabwuhtah) Roberta was so pretty and nice, with gorgeous brown hair, and I was smitten. In deep smit. Smittified. Smit-like.

Roberta had an amazing calming effect on me my mother loved. Normally I was a tad rambunctious. (think Calvin in “Calvin and Hobbes”)

We, Roberta and me, could sit and quietly play under the shade of the big elm tree on my front lawn for hours. We simply enjoyed each other's company. 

Yes, we had a big elm tree on Elm Street. Take that, Norman Rockwell . . .

Then one day Roberta came to my house with her mom. Roberta was crying and she told me she had to say goodbye because they were moving a long way away.

I spent the rest of that afternoon in my room face down on my bed on my red, green and black plaid bed cover, clutching my beloved stuffed dog, Morgy, and crying. Hard. My mom probably cried to.

Soon after that, my great Aunt Kathy - great in every sense of the word, we affectionately called her Aunt Kaffy - suddenly died. When my mom told me Aunt Kaffy was going away and we would miss her, I asked if Aunt Kaffy was going where Roberta was. That made my mom cry and she hugged me.

But the bad girl on the block - and every block has one -  was a pretty little blonde-pig-tailed trouble-maker also named Debbie. She liked to play doctor so much I wouldn’t be surprised to hear she had her own private practice by the age of 12. I’ll call her Dr. Debbie.

Dr. Debbie loved that limerick, “Milk, Milk, Lemonade,” and repeated it and acted it out endlessly. 

And I absolutely hated it. Still do. Almost 50 years later and I still can't figure out why I hate it so much. 

All of my conservative mid-western/southern and Methodist, German and Scottish genes combined to make me despise the “MML” limerick as a lewd, crude and nastyto the point of making me furious.

Sure, I liked to play a mean game of Doctor, but that limerick was too much.

When I heard Amy Schumer perform that limerick again, my brain shot back almost 50 years to the muddy long grass and wild shrubs behind Dr. Debbie’s paint-peeling garage where we had our, um, medical practice. 

Behind the garage was away from the strict eye of Dr. Debbie’s mean aunt, Lucy, whom Dr. Debbie was mysteriously living with. (Even at seven, I was aware of the rumors swirling around Dr. Debbie’s absent mom and, as a result, Dr. Debbie’s questionable legitimacy. Adults have no idea how much little kids pick up from their whispering)

It is odd. Somehow I knew that Dr. Debbie knew she thought she was unwanted and acted out as a result. Besides playing Doctor with me, she lit fires, threw rocks at their cat, threw fits and intentionally broke stuff. Dr. Debbie was constantly in trouble at school and at home.

Dr. Debbie was my introduction to what would become quite a sordid history of a fascination with bad girls. Plus I just think a part of Dr. Debbie was just born a dirty little girl. 

Whenever Dr. Debbie wanted to instantly infuriate me – which she wanted to do a lot because, even at seven, she was still a female – she would launch into her “Milk, Milk, Lemonade” dance.

It worked every time. I would storm home incensed. One time, when I told my mom why I was furious and recited the "MML" limerick, suddenly I couldn’t play at Dr. Debbie’s house anymore either.

At the ripe age of seven, I had plum run out of Debbie's.