Oh, what a week. Jory went to The Black Party, which isn't what it sounds like, except sorta. If it was what it sounds like, Mr. Lou Dobbs would certainly not be invited. (He would probably not be very comfortable at the real one either.)
Sometimes we're jealous of our friends who got out. But trust us—we spent some time away from New York, and basically ended up like the sad monkey.
So many things made us OUTRAGED! The MySpace suicide and the rising prices at the Time Warner cafe and Wal-Mart and the state of literature today and, uh, cancer. And TMZ, which is a form of cancer.
Heidi Montag is to John McCain what Naomi Campbell is to hurting people, or something. It's been a long week.
Barry Diller writes email in Comic Sans and bras don't need backs anymore. It's a crazy old world, all you can do is keep singing.
One of us kinda had a little crisis this week when a rotund young internet person "snogged", as the tabloids probably don't actually say, the big-eyed cartoon troubadour John Mayer. Maybe it was that "punking" fellow's fault?
EVERYBODY LIKES EVERYTHING, OK?
Oh there was some April Fool's bullshit but we're not even going to link to it.
Emily Brill had a sad, annoying license plate. Also sad/annoying: Hipster kickball. Maybe just sad: Either Jared Kushner or Ivanka Trump.
Ladies! Stop writing about sex. If you need attention, yell at some doctors on Larry King.
We feel like there's some pop cultural analogue for Charles Stam but we can't think of it. Max Fischer was the son of a barber, Tracy Flick was apolitical, Ferris Beuller was basically a spoiled Republican prick but he had that Cabaret Voltaire poster... oh well. Anyway, kid doesn't like us! Good thing our new office is guarded by hired goons.
Nick hung out with all of his friends at a fun party.
Rebecca left us, all too soon.
I quit forever! Or until Wednesday, when I return from vacation.