America has spoken and the outcry is unanimous: Jack Webb’s Mom is hot! And I’m not talking about any old kind of crusty, aerobicizing, mall muffin mom. She’s a bona fide Hottie McHotpants with a side of barbecue sauce! I used to love going over to Jack’s house. A bunch of us would go over after school almost everyday. Jack himself? He’s a putz. Well, I guess I can’t say that for sure since I’ve never really talked to him. We’d all go over there to do homework, and pretend to be interested in What’s-His-Face, but everyone would just be eyeing that bird up, down, and sideways while she did housework. She can come scrub my tub any day! And boy, when she cleans out the freezer she smuggles some monster peas, if you know what I mean! Most Fridays I talk my way into spending the night. Jack Webb’s Mom was real understanding when I climbed into bed with her because I was “afraid of the dark.” Yep, once the sun went down, I got up off Jack’s cold bedroom floor and snuggled up next to her hot furnace. Of course, Mr. Jack Webb’s Mom never seemed too happy about this. I would tell my grandma about my nights over there, and she’d shake her head and say, “That Jack Webb’s Mom; she’s a pistol-- cat scratch fever incarnate if I ever saw it!” I suspect the unmarked, hand-knit miniskirt Jack Webb’s Mom gets in the mail every Christmas is from my grandmother. Write-in votes from coast to coast confirm that Jack Webb’s Mom is, indeed, hot. And boy is she. Have you seen her? She’s one hot piece of trail bologna. No one in the United States is denying this proclamation of hottiness. All you hear from people in the north as they push their carts around the grocery store is, “Jack Webb’s Mom is hot, dontcha know?” And on the east coast the buzz is that she is “wicked hot.” Ballots in more than one state quoted the phrase, “Jack Webb’s Mom is hotter than that Blues Traveler guy doing jumping-jacks in a sauna.” Clinical tests show that’s way hot!