BC-NY agents informed us this morning that Stephanie T. Mishap was spotted licking and pressing her breasts against professional clown David Blaine’s aquarium overnight. Apparently she was also holding a sign that said, “David you take my breath away!!! MARRY ME!!!” David appeared nonplussed, and while it was difficult to make out what he was saying underwater, we’re pretty sure it was something along the lines of “I have no penis, for I am larger than life. I transcend gender and do not require sexual gratification like you lowly humans. You may stay and gaze upon my magnificence, but you must not ask me to marry you.”

Not enough can be said about how inspiring and heartening the Immigration Marches were yesterday. Imagine: People caring enough about their rights, their families and the country to take to the streets and be unified behind a cause instead of behind their own vanity and self-righteousness (like, I don’t know, say the rest of the American left). Maybe there could be a new labor movement or at least a shift away from the sense of impending doom we currently call reality. Sorry, don’t mean to get all Daily Kos-y on your asses, but the March went right by my office here in Chicago and it must have flipped on my pontification switch.

Actually, there was only one thing that bothered me about the day. I was out at lunch, watching everybody going by and counting Che t-shirts (11 in under 20 minutes) when this big black town car came skidding up to the sidewalk. And out hops this woman in huge sunglasses and a full-length fur. It took me a second, but suddenly I realize it’s Sophanie Mishap. We never actually met, (thanks internerd!) but I recognize her from the headshot her publicist sent out when the feud began. Her manservants jump out of the front seat and out of the trunk they start immediately assembling a huge chair, like lifeguards or tennis judges sit in.

As soon as it’s together, SM is up in it and her goons pass her one of those giant ’20s cheerleader megaphones. She starts screaming at the Marchers, demanding to know where Julio, her gardener, is. She’s absolutely indignant, claiming she knows people at the INS and yelling if everybody doesn’t get back to “their owners” right away she’ll report them. For some reason, she urges every white person who walks by to “Remember the Maine.” It put a real damper on the whole day.

Joel and I wanted to take a time out from the feud to say something to all the witless bystanders who keep wandering into the blog firefight. Kids, stay out of it.

Now when you’ve been brought up in the game, like me and J-Ho, you know to mind your own goddamn business and not hop into a battle that ain’t yours to fight. This ain’t pretend; these are the lifes we’re living and if we expected to die old we never would have started blogging to begin with. We certainly don’t appreciate you trying to step to this. Not in the slightest. Go try to make your rep somewhere else cause this is about blood here.

Now we understand some of you are (dumbly) trying to jump on our satirical grenades to protect Mistress Svenia T. Mishap. Your devotion, while mildly cute, is also extremely creepy. Have you ever seen the SNL sketch about the Mr. Belvedere fan club? Where they say they love him so much they want to put him in a giant glass jar, but worry that his breath will fog up the jar and they won’t be able to see him and they kill his pets? That’s you, loony freaks. Get out of here and into some direct sunlight.

The feud will resume as soon as I make a sandwich.

The idea that Comedy is whatever people will laugh at at a given moment is as depressing to me as saying Art is whatever people look at on walls. In the immediate sense, yeah Colbert did bomb, in that the room was silent at most of his jokes. The Helen Thomas taped thing wasn’t that great and was a lousy way to close, but goddamn that was an amazing performance. It’s not totally fearless, you can see him sweating sometimes, but hell if Steve didn’t do what nobody else has in 6 years: He called the bastard out to his face.