Shockingly enough, that’s exactly what this site is devoted to.

It’s really reprehensible. And mean-spirited. In no way do I endorse it.

However, it’s pretty spot-on.

The Daily News is all over this fascinating story about the well-to-do 25-year-old UPenn grad and his 22-year-old Drexel girlfriend who’ve been grifting hundreds of thousands of dollars using stolen identities. It’s totally engrossing and if the WGA strike wasn’t happening, would be the subject of a Law & Order episode by next spring.

Update: Galley Friend M.G. sends us this link to scandalicious Facebook photos of the griftress. I’m guessing she was the mastermind.

Darth Maul is Snake Eyes.

Say what you will.

The Christmas Ape writes his own script for a saccharine Christmas jewelry store commercial. Here’s a taste:

[Tinkling overlay of Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles”]

[Scene one]

Tony Romo sits in front of a vanity mirror in a room dimly lit by candles. He’s wearing an elf’s hat. He smiles faintly but with determination. His mind seems distant. He turns to a small TV to his right, sees Peter King reporting from Minnesota. Suddenly wistful, his smile fades to nothing.

Behind Romo, a closet door silently glides open.

“But how, you were — “

King reveals a small jewelry box, sweeping it over Romo’s shoulders to his face. He opens it slowly.

“It’s for your cock,” King whispers sweetly.

I’ve been undergoing a semi-reconsidering of Batman Begins, mostly on the strength of recommendation from Galley Friend S.B., who considers it the greatest superhero movie ever made. I’m far from convinced. But there’s now word out on the first six minutes of The Dark Knight. And it sounds just about amazing.

It starts off with a breathtaking shot of Gotham City in broad daylight. The camera swoops into this big glass skyscraper the way only an IMAX movie can. It was stunning. Then BOOM! One of the windows in this big glass skyscraper is blown out. It then cut to two thugs in ugly clown masks (the ones we saw in the first publicity stills that were released months ago) shooting a zip line down to an adjacent rooftop.

Cut to the street as we see another thug waiting on a street corner with his clown mask in his hand. We’re looking at him from behind and can’t see his face. A van pulls up and the thug puts on his mask and jumps in to join the rest of the clowns. The clown who’s driving is bitching about how this Joker guy who planned the heist didn’t even bother to show up and questions why they should cut him in on any of the loot. There’s an awesome line from one of the clowns about The Joker and how he wears make-up as “war paint” to scare the crap out of people. Very cool stuff.

The two clowns in the skyscraper dramatically swing down to the rooftop while the clowns in the van enter the bank guns a blazing.

One of the rooftop clowns disables the silent alarm and comments that the alarm isn’t going to the cops. Once the alarm is halted, his partner shoots him dead.

It gets better from there.

I hardly ever do this, so I hope you’ll forgive me, but Galley Friend D.M. sends me this link to a blog post about a piece I wrote elsewhere on Google’s Book Search. While not an attack piece, I tried to raise what I deemed some important concerns about this project in specific and Google in general. Anyway, that blog post describes the piece as “Jonathan V. Last defends Google in The Weekly Standard.”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be bothered by this total misreading. The blogger probably read the first couple graphs and then posted without reading the end. No crime there.

But what struck me was the name and subtitle of the blog:

“One Letter At A Time: A Blog About Reading and Writing”

Sigh.

Update: Blogger James Comerford has thoughtfully commented below and updated his original post. Advantage: Blogosphere.

I have remained silent too long. But now I have had it. Enough is enough. Last week photos emerged supposedly showing Jennifer Love Hewitt in an unflattering light. Yes, that light would be called the sun. Nevertheless, extreme close-ups of Love made it seem as though the talented actress had some dough to be kneaded. But who can really say when malicious photographers use Photoshop, not to mention the ripples of the water shining irregularly on her. And even if JLH did have some junk in the trunk, have we forgotten it is almost winter and we all need to store up our energy.

I am proud to say my girl has now responded on her blog:

A size 2 is not fat! Nor will it ever be. And being a size 0 doesn’t make you beautiful.

To all girls with butts, boobs, hips and a waist, put on a bikini — put it on and stay strong.

I agree she doesn’t need to lie, as when she refers to “my engagement to the man of my dreams.” That cannot be true since I am here in DC and still married. But seriously, everyone should leave the poor girl alone. She’s gone through enough as it is. And she must be starving.

And I mean seriously on. Galley Friend M.E. sends us this screed about comics illustrator Rob Liefeld. You don’t know who Liefeld is? Doesn’t matter. You do know Liefeld’s stuff? Then strap on your Compton hat, because you might get smoked. Here’s the intro:

Comic books exploded when Bill and myself were about ten years old. They’d always been popular and we’d always collected and enjoyed them, but a surge of popularity brought out collectors and special editions and all the shit we’ve learned to deal with from breakfast cereals and television punditry. Kids were replaced by old men with backing boards, and eventually the kids and the old men became one, and 9 out of 10 kids you met collected comics for the money they’d never see and gave you the most turd-burgling stink-eye if you took the literally, figuratively, and creatively worthless SPIRITS OF VENGEANCE out of its polybag. It was a grand and miserable time for all involved, and as a result now Spider-Man wears flying armor and the good writers we lost, guys like Alan Moore, are busy writing graphic novels about how Snow White loves fucking the Seven Dwarves in a metaphorical Future Paris or whatever.

You don’t need to know about this. Comics were once for kids and now they’re for the adults who loved them as kids but suddenly became adults with no upward motivation. Talented people did and still work on comics and as immature and goofy as any hobby can be, they should be respected and admired for their work. We don’t hate comics. I’m a little more bitter about the loss of innocence than Bill, but we both don’t appreciate Garth Ennis having Superman demand blowjobs in a comic and expecting people to call him a genius.

It gets better from there. It’s like the comic-book equivalent of “Shoot ’em in the head! Shoot ’em in the head!”