Whitney Houston, you have a problem.
The problem is this: most of us stopped caring about you during the second Clinton administration. We watched from a distance as you went down the stony end, did the crack thing, the meth thing, the whatever-you-could-get-over-the-counter thing, and, of course, the Bobby Brown thing -- the ENDLESS Bobby Brown thing. As if paying attention to you weren't bad enough, you were always towing around that New Edition washout and insisting that, oh, he's really a good guy, oh he's really a talented artist. And you made people believe you. Well you, madam, are a liar.
Now don't get us wrong. We're happy to see you back in the saddle. Generally speaking, no one likes watching another human being wallow in the gutter. (Exceptions to this rule include Roy Cohn and OJ Simpson.) But for the love of all that is good and lactose-free, do you HAVE to foist yourself on Oprah again? Do you have to launch another comeback effort? Can't you just be content in the fact that (a) you had a good run and (b) you've got Dionne Warwick's blood coursing through your hardened veins and (c) Aretha Franklin -- who may or may not have recently been eaten by a bear -- is your goddang godmother? That would be enough for 99.9% of America.
And if you MUST run out to the doctor, must you do it in a Lincoln Navigator, as you did in the picture at the link below? Do you know how many gags and jokes and profound truisms we dreamed up, based solely on the photo above? We'll tell you: NONE. But that's not to say we didn't spend hours trying to pin down some really good metaphors. Now we feel like you look.