At this point, no news is good news.

Today was a very sad day in my life. It has come to my attention that my favorite news publication of all time, Weekly World News, will stop the presses for good as of their August 27th issue.

I've spent the better part of my life reading this paper on a regular basis, and I'll miss it like crazy. It seems to have fallen to the wayside at the supermarket checkout lane among all of those glossy magazines featuring the chronicles of the likes of Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan drifting in and out of rehab and such.

I really don't understand why.

I mean, what would you rather read about: Paris Hilton sitting in jail, or this?

Or even this, for that matter?

Needless to say, I'm not very happy about the situation. I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to find an alternate method of keeping up with current events. I suppose that I'll have to start reading Time or Newsweek or some such crap, but neither one of those rags seem to be privy to the truly important current events, such as week to week updates of Satan's dramatic escape from Hell, or advisory statements pertaining to which presidential candidates are recommended by aliens.

This truly is the end of an era.

What a pisser.

Enter: Richard Dawson. Will he save the galaxy...or destroy it?

I often have a hard time deciding which behavioral characteristic of one Mr. Richard Dawson creeps me out the most from his days as the host of a little game show known as Family Feud: The way he kisses every woman he encounters on the mouth, or the way that he would occasionally give an unsuspecting female contestant a little pat on the ass as they walk away from him. Rumor has it that he had a quaint little habit of drinking on the job. After seeing the following clip, that doesn't exactly come as a total shock to me.

It seems as though this obvious display of public intoxication didn't sit too well with the governator.

Here comes the part where Duffy goes ahead and puts his two cents in.

Truer words were never spoken.

Soapnet, I have a confession to make. I'm cheating on you with Netflix.

For the past couple of months, I've been diligently watching reruns of the prematurely cancelled smash hit television program known as The O.C. on Soapnet. I'd never really seen the show on a regular basis during its initial run, but now, with it being shown five times a week, Monday through Friday, it has reeled me in, hook, line and sinker.

Lately, it has been to the point where at the end of each episode, I spend at least a few minutes or so being overwhelmed with anxiety about what will happen in the next one. There are always so many unanswered questions! Is Marissa going to dump Ryan for Johnny? Is Julie ever going to stop being a slut? When is Summer going to finally wake up and realize that Seth is almost as much of a geek as I am?

So a few days ago, I logged onto Netflix and ordered the season of The O.C. that is currently being shown on Soapnet, and instantly moved those sumbitches to the top of my queue.

As the end of Friday's episode drew to a close, I almost started to freak out. I could tell that it was about to end on yet another uncertain note, and I was going to have to wait until Monday to see what happens next, which was about to be a grueling three days away, as opposed to the usual one day of nail-biting suspense during the weekdays.

As the credits popped up at the end of the show, it suddenly dawned on me. I haven't checked the mail today!

I bolted down the stairs and sprinted through the living room, as though I were competing in the fifty-yard dash. I opened the front door to see that in the mailbox were three freshly delivered DVDs from Netflix! I opened them up to find that they were all episodes of The O.C., and the most awesome thing of all was that the first disc in the chronological order of the show picked up right where the episode that I had just finished watching on Soapnet left off! I was so excited!

So now I have three whole DVDs of The O.C. that I have yet to see. I guess I have my weekend pretty much cut out for me.

Did I ever mention that I'm a geek?

I hate to be the one to break this to you, but that's not toilet paper.

We had a few people over to the pad on Tompkins Saturday night. Although I had a great deal of fun, it was by no means a balls to the wall heavy metal vomit party. There were about ten or so folks hanging out on the porch, just having a beer and bullshitting with each other. It didn't even go on too late, everyone took off by about an hour or so after midnight. After all was said and done, it turned out to be a rockin' good time.

When I woke up on Sunday and went into the bathroom, I happened to notice that one of the magazines on the shelf above the toilet had a piece of the cover ripped off of it.

I then realized that the toilet paper was on the top shelf, way out of reach from the seat of the toilet. That was when I just went ahead and assumed that someone had just used the cover of my ten year old issue of Entertainment Weekly to wipe their ass. Which was all well and good, these things happen in life.

But then, I noticed exactly how the cover had been ripped. Here it is.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Maybe it was just as I had surmised in the first place, a random act of somebody in dire need of some wiping material.

Or It could have been that a person using the bathroom just really wanted that picture of Leo and Kate, and made off with it like a thief in the night.

Or it may have even been a case of someone knowing that there was toilet paper in the bathroom who just thought that it would be cool to wipe their ass with Leonardo DiCaprio's face.

Endless possibilities.