I Don't Wanna Hear Another Thing about 'Brienny'!

If Chicago Bears middle linebacker Brian Urlacher and that famous-for-no-apparent-good-reason really are shacking up in Geneva, then it’s dropped the collective IQ of this bedroom community by at least a full 30 points.

As if that prospect weren’t terrifying enough, the has been the purported sighting of Urlacher’s Range Rover parked alongside the .

Really? Brian Urlacher’s car? It sounds like something Floyd Lawson would brag about to the rubes in his barber shop. Perhaps we really do live in Mayberry.

Before you hit the submit button, please permit me to clearly stipulate that I’m only writing this column out of sheer jealousy, and my life is so empty that I have nothing better to do than to fill that void by going after some hapless “celebrities.”

Happy now?

But what is it with this culture and the cult of celebrity—especially our obsession with celebrity couples? Just to get it out of the way, I hereby christen this pair, “Brienny.” (Urlacarthy just doesn’t work.) The fact that someone manages to become famous does not and should not set them up as any kind of example.

Truth be told, it often means exactly the opposite. So let’s take a closer look at Mr. Urlacher, who may well be the NFL poster child for poor off-the-field choices.

This is a guy who, well aware that ex-stripper Tyna Robertson had already sued Lord of the Dance star Michael Flatley for rape to the tune of $33 million, still said, "She's for me."

Flatley, who took offense at the notion of some gold digger getting rich at his expense, countersued Robertson and won an $11 million settlement for defamation and extortion.

Quickly tiring of her, Urlacher temporarily took up residence with his ex-wife and, wouldn’t you know it, both women turned up pregnant. Yes! The guy who offers quarterback Jay Cutler all that unsolicited advice can’t quite figure out how to use birth control.

C’mon folks! Brian Urlacher is famous for playing a children’s game for a football team that consistently underachieves. He may be a reasonably accomplished player, but he ain’t gonna make anyone forget Dick Butkus or Mike Singletary. Yes, his charitable endeavors are laudable, but most NFL players use that kind of thing as just another form of self-promotion.

Then there’s Ms. McCarthy, who actually makes Urlacher look Ghandi-esque by comparison. She’s a real piece of work.

Remember, this is a woman who’s famous for taking her clothes off, something any one of you could do (though I’d recommend most of you refrain from doing so). She may call herself an “actress” and “model,” but the truth is, she’s more noted for dating famous men like Jim Carrey and the aforementioned football player.

McCarthy claims she “cured” her son’s autism and has gone to great lengths to sell books embracing unfounded new-age science that provide the worst kind of false hope to the parents of autistic children.

Though she couldn’t sing Carrey’s praises nearly loud enough while they were together, she’s not above hitting him with questionable allegations for self-promotional purposes.

And my absolute favorite, instead of texting nude pictures of herself to Urlacher—who could’ve just as easily picked up an old copy of Playboy—she sent them to her dentist.

Now, I had a really funny one-liner regarding this misstep, but Rick won’t let me use it in a family Internet newspaper. If you visit my new blog, I’ll be happy to share it with you.

Suffice it to say, I’d be willing to bet she gets a discount on all future dental work.

In the end, Jenny McCarthy is even worse than Paris Hilton, because she’s actually dangerous.

So, with the exception of this one, I don’t want to see another Brienny story make it to the top of that Patch most-viewed list, or there will be consequences.

There are far more important things to consider (like me) and the people we really oughtta be looking up to are all those Geneva parents, teachers and public servants who go the extra mile to make this city better place—not a pair of inconsequential nitwits.

The only thing that scares even me more than their purported presence is, considering Mr. Urlacher’s past propensities, the real possibility that they might reproduce.

God help us if they do.