The New York Post, that paragon of American journalism--the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh columns all rolled into one --has a groundbreaking report today: One-third of moms have cheated! What?! At Scrabble, right?

Oh noes! The same amount--just 36 percent --say they're still attracted to their husbands. The rest would apparently rather bone George Clooney (well, who wouldn't?) or, um, Barack Obama.

Least reassuring quote: "The desire to have desire [for their husbands] is there."

AN UPDATE: Ladies, please stop reading now.

Seriously, gals. Go away.

They gone? Good.

OK, gents. So I sent that story to my friend Dan. His response? "They harangue you to get married and then...they cheat!"

I am never going to get any love again, am I?

A word to the wise, moms of the world in quaint cash-strapped villages: home-made erotic calendars don't always sell as well as they do in the movies.

Key, heartbreaking quote: "The sad part for us is figuring out what to do with them because it is not something you can recycle." Oh dear. The calendar, it's like a docket of despair, ticking off months of pain in daily doses of rejection.

Cause if you don't, you're going to want it after watching this:

Praise the Lord that someone is out there funneling millions of advertising dollars into something that's not actually killing our kids. Or getting them doped up on the Internets. Even if it is making them hit the puberty by, like, second grade.

I humbly submit to you, pumpkins, the very thing your wee ones need: The Economic Stimulus Tutu.

Apparently some 3-year-olds are more advanced than others. Mine, for example, has trouble sorting out the differences between "today" and "next week" and "my birthday." For her, it's all a blur.

Other kids, however, are all up to date on the latest on the gubernatorial crisis in Albany. Watch this clip: here we learn that "everybody at school is talking about" the Eliot Spitzer scandal. You know, the one in which he paid $80,000 for his friend, Kristen, who was on the show "The Girl is Wild." The poor governor had to quit before he was peached.

New York City kids are some sophisticated tykes, I tell you what. Still. Personally, I prefer the rehash of Star Wars. Something about coaching a little girl to describe Hookergate smacks of trying a wee bit too hard to get a laugh.

I'm sitting here at work, past midnight, my eyes are blazing red burning balls of fiery fireballs. The primary results are slowly trickling in. California--or as MSNBC's resident gourmand pundit Chris Matthews calls it, "the big enchilada"--is still a week or so away from being tallied. Good thing I have packed a change of clothes, toothpaste and plenty of whiskey. I am prepared for history. I am toggling between Newsweek's live Webcast (which you are surely watching, no?), CNN, various blogs and a VH1 special about celebrity sex toys.

I was unable to vote in today's primary because I am an independent voter (YOU CAN'T PUT ME IN A BOX, PEOPLE!) and we are not allowed to vote in primaries for some reason which mystifies and enrages me. I had wanted to take my daughter to vote with me. We've voted together before, but that was for 'Make Me a Supermodel,' so that doesn't quite count.

To my editors' credit, I was told to report to duty at 5 pm, since I was expected to stay until the bitter end. So I slept in. HAHAH! Sorry, no. That was hilarious. No. I woke with the kid at 6:50 and, when my babymama went to work, I took the kid to her music class.Normally our sitter takes her, since she's usually on duty Tuesdays. But today I took the opportunity to check out what kind of filth the degenerate music teacher was filling my child's brain with.

So, fine, there's nothing cuter than 20 hyperactive 3-year-olds not following their music teacher's instructions (I will note, though, that the grown up parents dutifully busted every dance move and belted every TRA-LA-LA requested of them. Oh, Dignity, will we ever meet again?) 

The sitter took over, I went to work. When mommy came home, she took the child to our neighborhood polling place. It turns out I was fortunate to not have been eligible to vote today. I wanted to give her a lesson in civic duty! I wanted her to learn the solemn importance of our democratic social contract. I wanted her to touch the grimy voting machine so I didn't have to. But these tasks fell to my wife. Who took F to the local public school. When mom tried to take her into the booth, she proceeded to melt down with a vehemence that would make Britney stop and take notice. I wasn't there but I imagine it went a little like this: NO I CAN'T GO IN THERE NOOOOOOOOOO!!! I DON'T WANT TO VOTE!! Only, you know, times 20 to the power of skull-crushing.

And this is who we are trying to save the planet for? Some gratitude, kid.