A Fond Look Back At The Worst Day Of The Week

Not that we're counting down the days until our imminent departure for Radar or anything, but when we woke up this morning and carved another X into the wall, we came to a realization that was both full of heartbreaking nostalgia and Cock-arousing joy: Today is my penultimate Fucking Thursday here!

Fucking Thursdays, you'll recall, are the way we refer to the worst day of the week, when news is extra-slow and we have to resort to incredibly thin premises to meet our quotas.

Ah, the memories: That time we wouldn't buy the rights to a picture of Angelina Jolie, so we took a picture of it on my computer instead. (We pay tribute to it above with a picture of this very post with that picture of a picture!) The day we put Choire in punctuation rehab. Our menstuating zombie movie. This senseless tribute to Willard Scott. Our IM with Jesus. Each one its own special little snowflake, a valentine we hold pressed to our chest, an indelible part of our legacy here at Gawker. We're a little emotional, but we're wishing ourselves a Happy 64th Fucking Thursday. Our week won't be the same without it. And THANK FUCKING GOD.