In our very first addition, we analyze the brillance of the Ulitmate Warrior.

This Week’s Runner-Up:

Headline of the year so far. Cross your fingers for “Beers eat man at bear festival.”

You know how BP rebranded themselves a few years ago with the sunflower logo and that says “Hey we like the Planet and aren’t trying to kill you anymore”?

FUCK THAT NOISE. They want you dead.

I’m no scientist, but 1,584 pounds of ammonia and 4,925 pounds of suspended solids (sludge) a day can’t be good. I think we’re all of the understanding that getting away with circumventing the CLEAN WATER ACT is bad mojo.

Don’t buy BP/Amoco gas.

J-Ho (via text message from our nation’s capital): Just passed a sign for the “GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE.”

A.: Irony?

J-Ho: An empty building, so no.

Time to get baptized!

Here.

When I was a wee child, summer mornings were dedicated to SportsCenter. Back then it was a 30-minute news and highlights program free of worthless opinions and anchors who are only concerned with out-punning each other. I’d watch the same episode as many as four times in one morning before even leaving the house. Now SportsCenter is a bloated 60- or 90-minute mess. Today’s children aren’t so lucky. The ESPN of my youth has turned to shit.

If you’re still a regular watcher of ESPN, you’ve probably noticed that the network has gone the way of MTV and departed from its progressive/revolutionary roots. Segments such as Who’s Now, incessant commentary from pompous blowhards, and inept broadcasters have made almost every program unwatchable. Hopefully they’ll listen to their new ombudsman Le Anne Schreiber and turn it around before it’s too late.

(Thanks to Jon for the story.)

Photo caption of the year:

“Superman’s parents say they will still refer to him as 4Real.”

Note to douchebag parents everywhere: You’re not clever, your kid isn’t a chihuahua, and nobody, nobody wants to endure childhood with a fucking Arabic numeral or inanimate object or insane, non-existent-occupational title for a name, okay? Get over yourself and give Junior a name that won’t land him head-first in a flushing toilet every single day of his adolescent life.

Jeebus, it was hot this weekend. J-Ho came to Chicago and we all sweated in the same time zone for a change. We were rocking it with well-wishers and more than a little beer was downed at the Long Room and various other BC-endorsed haunts. At the end we closed the proceedings by ceremoniously placing our shoes together to form a super Japanese space robot (not pictured).