I was having breakfast at the Legion the other day. A $7 All-You-Can-Eat buffet! With Eggs Benedict and everything! Of course my mouth was too sore to eat anything but pancakes and potatoes, but that's another story.

Anyway, so I was at the Legion and some friends were talking about their recent trip down to the heart of Jesusland USA. They have that fancy GPS thingy installed in their car, you know, the gizmo that will help you find your way? You know, the thing that has a homing device on your car so that -- theoretically -- when you're in Jesusland and your car heads to an abortion clinic or a gay bar, the President of Jesusland could track you and drop a bomb on you. But it's okay if your GPS car heads into another country with a mess of bombs and guns and kills innocent men, women and children.

Anyway, these friends took their little trip and had "the other woman" in the car with them the whole way. They asked where the nearest Walmart was and she cheerfully told them. They asked where they could find a pet food store because they had to dump all their dog food laced with Canadian beef at the border and she lead them right to a PetSmart.

But when they took a detour, a scenic route, or even got off the chosen path to go to a gas station, well the GPS lady got right testy! "You're off course, " she'd say. And then she'd say it again. Then in a huffy voice, she'd say "Recalculating," like her day was in ruins.

And I wondered, what if your GPS lady got a bad case of PMS? Would your car always head straight to the ice cream parlour? The local chocolatier? Would it lead you to the side of the road and sit there sobbing because its car bra was making the headlights sore?

The GPS lady has to sort some things out before I hook her up to my little car. Already I've had enough of voice mail's "Meridian Mary," and Bell's "Emily" on the other end of the phone. There's only enough room for one cranky old broad in my car.

Thanks and good luck.

Please don't sue me.