America has ended before—in these eight visions of the country's collapse collected by io9. (But those times we woke up and it was a dream.)
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America has ended before—in these eight visions of the country's collapse collected by io9. (But those times we woke up and it was a dream.)

This isn't the first time that a complete unknown has come so close to the presidency—at least not if one includes Hollywood fantasies. The best of them is Being There, a movie made during the last period of national distress in which a mild-mannered and subnormal gardener played by Peter Sellers stumbles into the political spotlight. His bromides on the seasons are taken as reassuring economic wisdom; his television interviews test off the charts; and in the final scene the party establishment clutches at him as their savior much as the McCain campaign selected Sarah Palin. After the jump, a clip crosscut with moments from this year's campaign; but first, some dialogue.
"What do we know about the man?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"We don't have an inkling about the man."
"That could be an asset."
newVideoPlayer("/Being_There_Palin_EDIT.flv", 506, 423,""); 
Well then: the mysterious hooded and bearded man photographed supervising the painting of a new Banksy mural yesterday is not Banksy; it's Williamsburg artist R. Nicholas Kuszyk! As he informed us just now in an email with the intriguing subject line: "not banksy! it's kuszyk." Who is this be-aviator shaded man of mystery? A Banksy collaborator who also paints some nice robots himself! See here:
the photo of the hooded person is not banksy. it's me, r nicholas kuszyk, a williamsburg brooklyn based artist informally affiliated w banksy and colossal media. i was consulting the paint crew on behalf of banksy who was too busy to oversee the entire process. this might sound like shameless self promoton (the name of the game) but at least i had the foresight, well banksy and i had the foresight, to plan on wearing something that covered my face yesterday in the case of people like david noseypants photog acting all paparazzi. otherwise this ordeal would have made my face public property. a dozen people took my photograph yesterday. david was the most intrusive. well played sir.
Here's his website, and here's a sample of his art, which is wild and crazy in a good way I believe:

"4 out of 5 men want Oxfords...in these new Van Heusen styles." And the fifth one is a god damn pipe-smoking blond homosexual who wears Brooks Brothers! Oh racist ad from 1952, you remind us how far we've come in our quest for equal rights for blond dudes. Click to enlarge. [Copyranter at Animal]
We asked, earlier this week, if "editors are 'retards' and servants to Arianna" Huffington, subject of an all-too-squishy New Yorker profile this week. After hearing from still more Huffington Post insiders, it would seem the answer is a resounding "yes." And an obvious "yes" to those who have come to appreciate that the ambitious divorcée draws few boundaries between her own professional and personal lives, working manically, phoning and emailing editors in the middle of the night, obsessively arranging the order of stories on HuffPo's front page and in its various sections, and hollering at her staff over an intercom in her Brentwood mansion even while she has her nails done. The only clear line, it seems, is between the smart, charming image Huffington projects to her celebrity friends and the world at large and the rather nastier and more careless Arianna seen inside HuffPo.
On the strength of its left-leaning political coverage, the Huffington Post has become a breakaway success, with more traffic than Drudge and more inbound links than TechCrunch. But advertisers hate politics, Arianna's favored and strongest topic, so the site is trying to diversify. As it does so, Arianna's skills — and flaws — as a manager will become more visible and more important.
Why does Huffington push herself to the point where, as both the recent New Yorker profile and those who have worked with her made clear, she has few, if any, serious friends outside of HuffPo? Why is she focused on her project to the point where associates wonder when she could find time for an affair with Cory Booker, as was bizarrely (in their eyes) rumored?
There is speculation as to the reasons. Bipolar disorder, perhaps? (There is no known evidence, only the guesses of laymen.)
Or maybe Huffington's priorities come from the teachings of the cultish Movement of Spiritual Inner Awareness, with which she has long been involved, for which her frequent contributor Russell Bishop launched a lucrative series of corporate "Insight" courses, and to which her live-in sister Agapi is said to be an especially fervent devotee?
Or perhaps Huffington is driven simply by ego. Within her publication it is understood, after all, that videos of her own media appearances are to be posted posthaste, top priority.
The cost of Huffington's poorly bounded ambitions are not born by her alone but also by her beleaguered staff, including aspiring journalists who until recently were hired, some claim, with no knowledge whatsoever they would take on some of the duties of administrative assistants or household servants. Duties like:
There are far worse jobs, to be sure, than editor and part-time admin for one of the top sites on the internet. But a great many of those who have worked with Huffington seem bruised, and compelled to talk about — vent about — their experiences and those of others. (And yes we, of all sites, should know this sort of thing when we see it.)
From their stories one can piece together a kind of coterie of miserable self-sacrifice. Here are three members of that dubious clique:
The Passport Mule
Huffington is known for forgetfully leaving essential gear behind as she jots around the world, including, most frequently, between her Brentwood home office, HuffPo's New York office and the Mercer Hotel in SoHo. The most infamous example of this, multiple sources said, occurred when Huffington, or more likely a carelessly-instructed housekeeper, neglected to pack Arianna's passport for a trip from Brentwood. Once in New York on the first leg, Huffington realized she needed the passport to enter Canada for a fast-approaching trip to Toronto.
There was no time. An unnamed female HuffPo staffer was dispatched in the wee hours on a flight to New York. She delivered the passport to the Mercer and was promptly placed on a return flight to Los Angeles, another 18-hour day in the service of Arianna's Vortex. She may or may not have been treated to lunch in between!
Young Colin Sterling
Sterling became blog editor at the Huffington Post, and a top conduit between Arianna and the New York office, following the departure of two seasoned journalists, BBC's Elinor Shields and Rolling Stone's Frank Wilkinson, who did not fit into the publishing culture Huffington had created. Maybe Huffington couldn't let go of the site and provide them sufficient autonomy, or maybe they just couldn't mesh with Web publishing, it's not clear. (They each lasted at most a year.)
Today in his mid-20s, Sterling earned Huffington's trust as a researcher for her out West. By all accounts, his new job, with crushing demands from the very top, has taxed him. Called upon to, say, cram together TV talking points on less than half an hour's notice while riding herd over a massive, oddball stable of blog contributors, most of whom will be relegated to vertical sections far from the coveted front page, Sterling has been known to pound his desk with his fists and yell curses (a simple "Fuck!" being a favorite) immediately after hanging up on a call from Arianna, an act guaranteed to be noticed in HuffPo's open-plan 15-person Gotham newsroom.
Sterling is also, at times, short tempered with those underneath him: The public yelling and cursing are not directed only at the Gods in the wake of Arianna's calls, it seems. His "nasty" temper has made enemies, one person said, and contributed to a "Lord of the Flies" atmosphere during the three or four weeks of each month Huffington is not in New York. Other observers are much more sympathetic, but still concede his personality seems to have bent sharply to fit that of his loved and hated boss.
In fairness, it should be noted that Huffington is said to have her own short temper. Though no one has been able to confirm that she called one editor a "retard" before he quit in protest, as we reported in our last HuffPo story, none doubted she would have said it, and some insiders said it would be in keeping with other nasty slights — calling people "fucking" liars, incompetents and worse.
Thanks to Arianna's manic work schedule, hours never quite end at HuffPo for anyone on staff, by all accounts. Fairly or not, Sterling seems to have become a bit of a poster child for the ill effects of that phenomenon.
Roy Sekoff
This is the man who, everyone seems to agree, writes Arianna's blog posts, the ones she pledged would "never" be ghost written. The process will be familiar to anyone who has similarly ghosted a column for an EIC: Huffington briefly sketches an idea, Sekoff (or perhaps, on occasion, another editor) researches it and puts it to words, and Huffington does a quick check prior to publication.
Sekoff also happens to be HuffPo's top, founding editor and Huffington's right-hand man, based in Los Angeles. A family man in his late 40s, he is described as not only older but more loyal than Huffington's other editors, many of whom are in their 20s. Thus eyebrows were arched when he gave this quote to the New Yorker, implying that Huffington is often unfamiliar with the topics she is called upon to discuss on television:
I’ve literally seen her stand somewhere, look at a piece of research, and then—boom!—go on TV and, word for word, nail the three most important points and leave out everything else.
One wonders how often the research in question came from Sekoff himself, and if his quote to the New Yorker wasn't a bit of subconscious revenge on Arianna for taking credit for so much of his own work.
If anyone has more information from inside the Huffington Post, for example on the clubby process of front-page story selection, or on the parade of editors through New York, we'd love to hear from you. And we're not even sure we could stop you guys from writing in at this point if we wanted to.
newVideoPlayer("/Bush_senior_clip.flv", 506, 423,"");
The inclusion of a woman on a major party's presidential ticket is unprecedented... for the Republicans. The Democrats did it back in 1984, when Walter Mondale selected Geraldine Ferrarro for his suicide mission against Reagan. Ferraro was considered risky due to her inexperience, but her selection and her brash, confident campaigning bumped Mondale way up in the polls. The VP debate that year pit George H. W. Bush, who'd been in Washington for years in various positions of authority and who was considered something of a foreign policy expert, against Ferraro, who'd only been in the House of Representatives for a couple years. The result? See for yourself in the clip above, in which Ferraro fights back against condescension from Vice President Bush. Think of it as a preview of tonight's Biden/Palin debate, except for the fact that Ferraro is smart and can speak English.
It's a fact of life on the internet that when you are mentioned (and linked to) unfavorably by certain high traffic right-wing bloggers, you promptly start receiving some of the most remarkable hate mail you've ever seen. It begins immediately, peaks overnight, and continues usually for about 72 hours or so. Then everyone forgets about it or gets bored and only a few wackos send you the odd death threat for another week or two. (That cycle of mass hatred is not exclusive to pissing off the far-right—obsessive fans of certain celebrities act in much the same fashion!—but Malkin-readers are the form's purest expression.) For your edification, we've run some numbers on keywords used in the hate mail sent to us after we reprinted some of Sarah Palin's emails, an act of malicious terrorism that got us called all sorts of names by Michelle Malkin, Bill O'Reilley, and presumably many more. Why is this relevant now? Hah, two of our favorite conservative bloggers just got caught up in the same shitstorm of right-wing bile.
Gentlemen, meet Kathryn Lean Lopez, editor of National Review Online! She is the mother of all Kool-Aid drinkers, according to Andrew Sullivan. She writes for The Corner, NRO's neat little group blog that really exists inside its own bubble of political fantasy and theological debate and name-calling and reality-denying. But K-Lo wrote a crazy column about how "the McCain campaign should stop trying to ruin their good thing — a vice-presidential candidate who was a breath of fresh air not only in the campaign but in American politics and culture — by over-preparing her and tossing her into hostile media interviews." Which led to this!
‘You belong on MSNBC. You’re no republican and should be ashamed of what you wrote. You’re a disgrace to this journal and the republican party. Everyone knows you are a democrat with a name Lopez. I don’t ever want to hear from you. Thousands of complaints about you have been expressed.”
Ha ha, oh shit, K-Lo just heard from her base, and they're not happy! Also they're a little racist and crazy! But honestly that is tame compared to what her NRO friend Kathleen Parker got when she wrote a column about how Palin really needs to be kicked off the ticket to save the Republican party.
Your article sounds more like a female on the rug. You don’t do yourself credit for the lousy journalism you displayed in your article. The article filled with so much BS, mud slinging, it came to a point it became unbearable to read any more drool from your part. So I must ask you, are you some pig that resembles Rosy O’Donnell, or do you hate real feminine, soft and powerful woman who has reversed years of corruption in Alaska, and fearful that she will do the same thing, but her problem that might shatter this dream is her poor performance in a few interviews?
Hopefully this is not typical of your journalist abilities, otherwise, you might be better off heading home and cooking some cookies.
My, My, Kathleen, what a nice conservative facade you have!! Truly, your aren’t fooling anyone with your so called concern for the betterment of the Republican Party by asking Sarah Palin to get off the ticket. What you did was embarrass yourself and negate every positive article you ever wrote about Republicans. See, I think you are a fake — a wolf in sheep clothing. A pretend conservative. Someone who can’t be relied on in tough times and has zero loyalty. Someone who lies in wait to attack. In your dark heart, that opportunity couldn’t come too soon. So, please, spare us conservatives, who actually care about supporting our party through smooth & rough roads, with your disingenuous regrets.
Clearly, your article proved that you are not a supporter of women or loyal to the party, because you implied that Sarah Palin has to be perfect in every way to be counted as credible. And in your eyes, she doesn’t perform according to your standards. Finally, I don’t have the time nor do I want to waste my time with you by making comparisons of Sarah Palin to many of our past, ‘experienced & knowledgeable leaders’ that brought this country to crisis after crisis. So, you might want to re-categorize yourself as, a “woman who won’t support another woman unless she believes what I believe” — LIBERAL. Having mass amounts of ‘information’ pale in comparison to the Godly character Sarah Palin has & how that character would bring her through any challenging situation. But I guess only a Christian conservative could see that.
You talk too f***ing much. Get out from behind you computer and get a real job. And stop help Senator Hairplugs, you f***ing dope.
You are very easy to figure as are many like you. The bad have always hated the good. No matter what issue. War, terrorism, politics, evil like Osama Bin and people like him, Mumoud from Iran and such. Evil has always hated the good!!!!!!!!!
Case closed
The hate inspired Parker to write her own oh man the hate mail I got is crazy column. Parker, of course, compares the bile and threats to Nancy Pelosi's dumb anti-Bush speech in a "everyone is too partisan" cop-out. But, you know, Parker does acknowledge that this brief trip outside the Party Line led to an unprecendented amount of hate mail: "After 20 years of column writing, I'm familiar with angry mail. But the past few days have produced responses of a different order. Not just angry, but vicious and threatening."
(The Guardian too recently ran one of their periodic "look at our dumb American hate mail" columns too!)
We'd say this is indicative of a terrified Republican base facing their first big loss in some time, but honestly the tone and volume of the hate mail has barely varied since we were first introduced to it in 2006 (and we're sure it was the same story from the very beginnings of the internet). The Commentariat is just ANGRY and VIOLENT, all the time. Liberals get a great deal of justified ribbing for their constant outrage over every little thing, and political blog commenters from both sides are guilty of disgusting rhetoric, but in our experience it's the Malkinites and Little Green Footballers and their Brethren who hands-down win the violent, stupid, and hateful hat trick. Look how they turn on their own!
Hey, here's our own inbox!

We're told a New York Sun editor emailed freelancers to tell them tomorrow will, indeed, see publication of the neoconservative daily's last issue, as previously rumored. At the start of this month, the newspaper said it was desperately seeking cash. It supposedly raised "a lot" of money in the following two weeks, but then came a brutal Wall Street meltdown that appears to have ended any hope for new benefactors. The Sun editor's brief email, forwarded by a tipster, is after the jump.
Dear Writers,
In this economic climate, it seems the task of finding additional investors has proved too difficult. The New York Sun, which launched in 2002, will print its final edition on Monday, Sept. 29
French President Nicolas Sarkozy and his beautiful, mesmerizing wife Carla Bruni are in New York City today, taking in the local culture and meeting with various heads of state. Also in town, Alaskan governor and Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin! You know, little Sarah Heath from Wasilla! The Observer wonders if they'll cross paths at all, envisioning a potential dinner full of awkwardness and, eventually, shouting. We're gonna use our drama degree for once and take it one step further. After the jump, find an imagined (because reporters aren't actually allowed to these meetings) scene from the dinner.
[NICOLAS, CARLA, SARAH, and her husband TODD are seated in a secluded corner of a fancy midtown Manhattan restaurant. A long pause.]
SARAH: Well this sure is fancy.
CARLA: Oh, yes. It is very lovely no?
SARAH: I tell ya, I haven't had a decent meal since Todd'n me got a Rodeo burger at the Minneapolis airport. Ever had one'a those? Rodeo Burgers?
CARLA: Ahh.. I—
SARAH: From Burger King?
CARLA: Oh, yes, yes. Of course. Burger King. No, I've not had the, uh, Rodeo hamburger.
TODD: Helluva sandwich. Helluva sandwich.
NICOLAS: Ms. Palin, your husband tells m—
SARAH: Oh for pete's sake, call me Sarah.
NICOLAS: Oui, of course. Sarah. Your husband tells me you do some hunting?
SARAH: Sure do. Oh yeah. Yup.
NICOLAS: Pheasant? Foxes?
SARAH: No, no. Mostly the bigger stuff. Moose'n such.
CARLA: Moose is... an elk or something, yes?
SARAH: Sorta like that only bigger'n slower and stuff.
TODD: Helluva kill, the moose. Helluva kill.
SARAH: Do you hunt Carly?
CARLA: Uh, no. No hunting for me. I play music? The guitar?
SARAH: Oh my goodness. Todd, I told you she was arty. You look arty, Carly. Whaddaya play? Do you know any Jim Croce?
CARLA: I play, uh, my original songs.
SARAH: Holy Nome, you write your own stuff, eh?
NICOLAS: She writes beautifully.
SARAH: Well that... That's just great.
[A long pause. Clinking of utensils.]
SARAH: I hear Paris is a lovely country. I've always wanted to go to Euro Disney. When I was a little girl I used to look at maps? Lotsa maps. And you could see Idaho, and New Mexico, and New Hampshire, and the Carolinas. All that. None of 'em ever had France on 'em, though. Nope. Never been there. Hear it's real nice. Little [does shaky hand motion] for my taste, but real nice. When all this is over, Todd and I were thinkin' about going down to Myrtle Beach. You two ever been there?
NICOLAS: Ah, no. No. We were recently in Sardinia, though.
SARAH: Where they get the little fish!
NICOLAS: Uh, yes. Yes. I suppose so.
SARAH: How about that. Huh, Todd? How about that Todd?
TODD: Helluva thing. Helluva thing.
SARAH: Say, do you two have any kids?
CARLA: Yes, but not together. None together.
SARAH: Oh, well that's too bad. You'd better get workin'! Would you like to see mine?
CARLA: Yes, of course.
SARAH: Terrific. They're in my purse here somewhere.
CARLA: Photographs?
SARAH: No, no. The actual kids. Hold on here a sec...
[She bends down and begins rooting around in her purse. Scene.]
Palin chats with Henry Kissinger over at Daily Intel!
newVideoPlayer("/CSPAN_2004_Obama_Keyes.flv", 506, 423,"");
This Friday marks the first presidential debate between John McCain and Barack Obama. Debate previews are available pretty much everywhere (this one's fine) but honestly you should probably just watch this clip. It's from the 2004 Illinois Senate race, when Barack Obama was up against Maryland talk show host and certified insane genius Alan Keyes. Keyes is talking about gay adoption, and how it leads inexorably to incest. Nothing on Friday will be this entertaining.
Oh, those debate preps they're doing? Obama is practicing against some ancient lawyer dude. This is maybe a mistake because the lawyer dude is probably way more well-spoken and, frankly, Obama-like in his answers than McCain will be, but whatever.
McCain is debating Michael Steele, who is entirely unlike Barack Obama in every way except for one important thing: his time spent as a college professor. Ha ha ha, just kidding, it's because he's black. This is to teach John McCain not to seem quite as contemptuous of the black guy as he actually is. (Oh wait, update—McCain says now they won't use Steele! We're sure Alan Keyes is available! Do it!)
POINT: "This is tacky even for the Onion, not too funny," a tipster emails us. The story in question? "NASCAR Cancels Remainder Of Season Following David Foster Wallace's Death." Sample: "At least for the moment, drivers found it hard to think about the Sprint Cup. 'All race long on Sunday, I was dealing with the unreality presented me by his absence,' said #16 3M Ford Fusion driver Greg Biffle...'I first read Infinite Jest in 1998 when my gas-can man gave me a copy when I was a rookie in the Craftsman Truck Series.'" COUNTERPOINT: No, it's funny. [The Onion]
Here is one of the many charming emails your editors have received since we reposted some emails that were hacked and originally posted by Anonymous earlier today, and then called a phone number. Now the "bloggers post their hate mail so you can point and laugh" routine is dead tired, but this one invokes your day editor's mom! "You obviously are too immature to realize that this is a pregnant woman you are bothering. Ask your mom if she approves." We went to your day editor's mom for comment.
Why would you treat a pregnant woman different from any other person, except to offer her a seat on a bus or to help her with a heavy package? Should we say pregnant women can't hold the same jobs as men due to their condition? Or how about run for office due to their delicate condition?
I do approve of your efforts, yes, Alex. You and Gawker are doing the job that the MSM isn't - not sounding the same irritating drumbeat as the rest of the media. If one more big media outlet calls Sarah Palin a "reformer", McCain a "maverick", and Bristol some sort of role model for all 17 year olds I WILL SCREAM. (Bristol isn't a role model, she is just a kid who made an unfortunate mistake - maybe 2 mistakes! there, I'm picking on her also).
Tell that person that your mother doesn't approve of hate mail.
Can't we all get just get along?
She further comments:
Hey, you guys should do a feel-good story on that german shepherd Buddy who DIALED 911 when his owner had a stroke or heart attack. He is a cute german shepherd and apparently has opposable thumbs
Here you go!
"Prior to the reelection of General Grant in 1872, there was a superstition prevalent that no man possessed of a middle name could be elected President a second time. The notion was based upon the fact that every President so endowed, up to that time, had, for one reason or another, failed to be reelected: John Quincy Adams, Martin Van Buren—if his was a triple name,—William Henry Harrison, and James Knox Polk. Even since Grant, who may be said to have been exempt from all rules, the tradition has held good. Rutherford Birchard Hayes, James Abram Garfield, and Chester Allan Arthur, were not reelected; William McKinley and Theodore Roosevelt were; also Grover Cleveland, after the lapse of an intermediate term,—who, it may be suggested, escaped the hoodoo by dropping his first name, Stephen, which his parents incautiously gave him." [The Atlantic via Andrew Sullivan]
We just received a sternly-worded missive from the Orange Center Elementary School in Fresno, asking us to cancel their subscription to US Weekly. Presumably this is part of the wave of cancellations related to their totally controversial Sarah Palin coverage. This raises so many questions: what exactly is an elementary school doing with a subscription to US Weekly? And why did they e-mail us to cancel it?
From: Wayne Werning [redacted]
Date: Fri, Sep 5, 2008 at 4:03 PM
Subject: subscription
To: —--@gawker.com
Hello,
Please advise how our school can cancel its subscription to US
MAGAZINE so that we do not receive any more copies. Your publication
has become offensive.
Thanking you in advance,
Orange Center Elementary School
3530 S. Cherry Ave.
Fresno, Ca 93706
As many of you have read I had a great time finally seeing Band From TV at Gene Autry that was sponsored by Netflix! Well now Netflix put up the cut feed of some of the performances from that awesome show and I had to share it with you because what I shot wasn’t nearly as good!
BTW I can’t wait to see Band From TV again because they were so good. So if you have a chance to see them I highly suggest it because I promise you won’t be disappointed!
New York magazine should know that it's setting itself up by sponsoring an event called a "Highbrow BBQ." I mean, really. The cookout yesterday offered the public food from Top Chef contestant CJ Jacobson, along with a concert, for $25. And for that price, one could at least expect a big piece of chicken. But a disgruntled tipster tells us that all she got out of the experience was a bit of watermelon, some nasty taco sauce soup, and an apology from a bourbon-swilling CJ. Overblown ripoff, or just a griping, overly entitled guest? You be the judge! The full report:
my friends and i went to the NY Mag sponsored highbrown backyard bbq today.
and it was a total failure. first of all it was in some gross parking lot on the east river, so there goes the "highbrow" part of it. second, i dont think they actually bbq'd anything. it was supposed to be a bbq with some sort of tacos, fruit salad, mexican corn, peach cobbler, and beer—tickets were $25 and sold out a few days ago, so you think they would know how many people were there. it was from 1-5pm, we got there just before 3 they were out of: beer, corn, peach cobbler, utensils. so essentially we paid 25 bucks for a stupid cold taco and a couple cubes of watermelon. CJ (from top chef) was there—drinking bourbon and apologizing, "they didn't tell us there were going to be 600 people here" and attempted to give my friend an impromptu soup out of some taco sauce (gross, but they didn't have spoons anyway). i dont even know if that band played either, they were blasting some sort of awful dance music through blown speakers. now i'm stuck with a year subscription of ny mag that i dont want, ugh.
We already told you about all the sex Olympians are having during the Games... this year. But we unearthed another variation of this delightful trend piece from the leadup to the 2000 Sydney Games. Published in Women's Sports & Fitness, it detailed the orgies of Olympics past. Not only were they handing out condoms, but from "one former Olympic swimmer who earned the nickname Plunge King, and not for his aquatic performance: 'There are the most beautiful women I've ever seen. I love the synchronized swimmers. Very, very flexible. They point their toes and the whole thing.'"
In 1992, the Olympic Village had a special e-mail program where you could e-mail any Olympian who wanted, and it would be translated into their language. We all know what that must have led to. Now-41-year-old swimmer Dara Torres said of the scene back then, "I'd get e-mails from all these guys, and I'd have no idea who they were."
Also,
"Swimmer Summer Sanders, a four-time medalist in Barcelona, says that having a guy in your room was grounds for being sent home, but the big e-mail tease was okay. 'Some of my girlfriends would email basketball players,' she recalls. And the women would offer the U.S. Dream Team private tours of the village with enticing e-mails like, 'See if you can handle the heat of the Village, because we're so cool.' Charles Barkley was spotted in the village, and one swimmer recalls that, curiously, he really seemed to know his way around."
The lesson here: swimmers are nothing but trouble.
[From Women's Sports & Fitness, 2000, written by Erin Bried]
Fun fact: Drew Curtis, the guy who runs linky website Fark, went to high school for one year with professional asshole (but not moron) blogger-turned-film writer Tucker Max. So Drew somehow got handed a cameo role in I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. Drew—who's big enough on the internet to not give a fuck what we or Tucker Max think—sent us a full report, saying Tucker is "out of control" but the actors are doing a good job, considering the material they're working with. And pictures! Click through now:
The actors at work (Tucker character in white t-shirt):

Tucker and a rapt crowd:

Drew Curtis' experience:
I spent three days on set, here's my take on things.
Tucker is completely out of control. As he explained it to me, he's
spent so much of his life not having to report to anyone that it's
killing him having to work with other people. Judging from the
agitation I'm seeing, that's an understatement. The first day I was
there, Tucker and Nils (the other screenwriter guy, who's really the
brains behind the operation) were in a heated argument in the corner. I
asked Nils what it was about, he tried to downplay it. But from what I
saw personally, this is a normal occurrence for Tucker.Nils tells me that the actor playing Tucker, Matt, who really seems to
have his shit together, is the complete opposite of Tucker (super nice
guy, etc etc). I've spoken with Matt a few times and he really couldn't
be nicer to a guy who's only got about 3 lines. Bob Gosse, the director,
is the brains behind it and seems to butt heads with Tucker pretty much
constantly.Tucker apparently thinks that the actor playing him has to actually be
him in real life. Or something. I have no idea what the deal is. To
me it looks like Matt's doing a fantastic job. I think Tucker's just a
control freak. He interferes constantly with the acting, the directing,
even sometimes the lighting. He doesn't know shit about any of this
stuff.The sad thing is apart from him this is a really good group, who all
seem to have their shit together. My previous experience with filming
is limited to a few episodes of FarkTV that I was in. That was pretty
much 6 guys and a handicam. There's a full film crew out here, easily
100 folks working just on logistics. I was kinda surprised, I figured I
was gonna see 6 guys and a handicam. It's a full blown production.The actors are doing a great job with the material. And speaking of
which, I read the previous articles about the movie on Gawker. The
script does read pretty lame, but the main actors are delivering it
extremely well. It all sounds very natural. I think also that this
pretty much isn't a movie the Gawker demo is going to like anyhow.
NASCAR-loving fart-joking middle America will eat this stuff up. If
this succeeds it will be in spite of Tucker and not because of him.
[Previous Tucker Max coverage. Please note the relative balance of this post.]
Yesterday we told you the nightmarish story of NBC's pooping intern. It was perhaps the perfect embodiment of a mortifying day at work. But we asked you, our employed readers, for your own stories of humiliation on the job, and you obliged. We've picked the five best (worst), which are printed in order of increasing terror. After the jump, read why you should never touch scissors at a library, make fun of hobos, joke about speed, pass out on a plane, or try to catch your boss' towel:
1. The Case Of The Clean Scissors
[The following is an email sent out to employees at a library]:
Hello Kirn Ref. & Circ.,
I just wanted to pass along a little reminder – not that anyone needs it – regarding our policy on offering the use of library scissors to the public (based on a little experience I had yesterday).
In short, our poicy is: if a patron asks to use scissors, please tell them that they may use them only at the (Ref. or Circ.) Desk. Never, ever, ever let them take the scissors away from the Ref. or Circ. Desk.
The importance of this policy came home to me yesterday: a man (one of our “regulars” – the fellow whom we’ve had to call the ambulance for several times recently) asked me if he could use the scissors, and I said he could use them only at the Desk. He asked me several times if he could take them for a few minutes, even offered to leave I.D., and I continued to say no.
Finally, I asked him why he needed to take them with him, and it turned out that he wanted to go to the Men’s room and cut the tip of a catheter bag that he was wearing so he could drain it.
I told him no, we can’t let him use our scissors for something that involves bodily functions, but that I would call the rescue squad to help him if he liked. He declined.
I don’t know what he did about his catheter bag.
And, yes, in over 20 years of library work, this is a first for me.
Thanks. –David
2. The Case Of The Non-Hobo
Just a couple of months ago this happened:
I have Hodgkins Lymphoma and am undergoing chemotherapy treatments. I've been holding up really well and still work full time. However, a medication given to me in addition to chemo made me very suddenly ill out of nowhere. I held it together enough to call my brother to pick me up, since I knew I would throw up all over the el or a taxicab (I work at Michigan & Wacker in downtown Chicago.) My boss caught me leaving and in a very trying-to-be-helpful way insisted on waiting with me on the corner for my brother to drive up.
So, I'm standing there, with my very well-intentioned boss, trying to make conversation, until I said, "Excuse me" turned away, and vomited all over the sidewalk, right next to the entrance where tourists go for boat tours on the river. A boatload of tourists was coming up the stairs and were completely disgusted, naturally. I shouted, 'I'm not drunk, I have cancer! Repeat, I am not a hobo!" and continued to vomit. Then I had to stand next to my puddle with my boss, who was too embarassed/shocked to say anything or move, until my brother FINALLY pulled up and I jumped into his car.
When I went back to work a couple of days later, my boss accidentally spilled some coffee on my desk, and I said, "don't worry, I've spilled worse in front of you!"
3. The Case Of The Unfair Race
i was an intern at a nonprofit art space in houston many, many years ago. during a fundraiser all the staff were wearing shirts with the name of the space, and an artist i barely knew came up to me and asked me where he could buy one. i told him they were not for sale, that you had to work at the place to get one, so he jokingly said "then i'm going to take yours." i blurted out "try and catch me!" which was when i remembered he had a prosthetic leg and walked on crutches. i immediately apologized. he was cool about it, but he was clearly not amused. i can still feel my face heat up when i remember the story.
[From commenter unutterable]
4. The Case Of The Xanax Fantasy
This is my favorite work story EVER. So, my friend gets a new job and on his first week has to fly from NY to Minneapolis for a mtg - and this guy hates to fly. So, he squeezes into his middle seat, pops a xanax and passes out. Next thing he knows he wakes himself up in a bit of a contorted position, almost moaning, and realizes he either had a wet dream at the age of 31, or indeed was jerking off in his sleep. His suit pants are a mess, his seat mates won't look at him and the flight attendants are hysterical. He can only surmise that his actions were, uh, obvious. One more hour in the flight, with turbulence, so no getting out of his seat to clean up. They land, and by this time his pants have dried, and we all know what that looks/feels like. He has to spend the rest of the day in crunchy stained pants with his briefcase in front of him. This happened 4 years ago - I cannot get on a plane without imagining this happening to every sleeping person I see.
[From commenter trustynails]
5. The Case Of The A-List Genitalia:
I used to work as the assistant to a very famous, award-winning A-list actor and his family. During my brief, but relatively long tenure (a marathon run in the celebrity assistant world), I experienced a number of awkward incidents. Some involved bodily fluids (delicious), some involved confusing his actor friends with other actors, which of course is a huge no-no (oh well, they were old)... But, I'll save those stories for my book. The most awkward experience I had while at the job, however, involved my fingers, the tits of my boss's mom, a towel, and a camera. Sound sexy and scandalous? It wasn't. It was as awkward as fucking shit, dude.
It all happened one summer day, the last day of camp for my boss's boys. The actor in question wanted me to take some pictures of the boys to add to the warehouse of manufactured memories this busy dad keeps of his family. I obliged (duh). So, as I was waiting to go get the boys from camp, I heard my boss shout at me from his office. He needed to get me his precious camera and also wanted to be sure I understood how to use it.
While waiting outside of his office, the door to which was slightly ajar, I decided to take a closer look at one of the paintings in the hall. One that hung right outside the door to his office. It was a gestural painting, line-based, of a woman. Think: Caveman-like. It was painted by my boss's deceased father, and the woman is presumably my boss's mother. Having been an art student, I was fascinated by the composition of the piece. I could easily tell by the strokes (heh, strokes) of the brush used that the artist began the image at the nipple of each breast. From that point, a line swirled around and created the breast and then went on to finish each side of the body, respectively. I was fascinated that the artist chose the breasts as the starting point, because artists usually draw people by beginning with the feature they find most important to the rendering an accurate image. Most will start with the head or the eyes if drawing a human, or will sketch the outline of a body or form. This guy started with the boobs. "What a fucking perv! How interesting!" I thought as I began to trace one of the breasts with my finger tips, just to get a sense of the artist's process (no really, I swear).
And just as I was doing that, the door swung open, and there was my boss. He must have just been in the shower, because he was only in a towel. My fingers became paralyzed, hovering over the left teet of my boss's mom. Completely stunned, my boss dropped his camera, and as he reacted, his towel dropped as well. Being the genius that I naturally am, I decided to try and catch the towel, but I caught a lot more than that.
And there I stood: My boss's junk in one hand and the painted breast of his mother at my fingertips. Mortifying.
From a 1993 Harper's, reprinting a lengthy missive from legendary author Terry Southern to the Village Voice. Southern, Dr. Strangelove screenwriter and New Journalism inventor, has some very important questions to ask about Joe Biden, then chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, now possible Vice President. Click through to see.

What Gives With Joe Biden? [Harper's, which has an awesome website and archive and you should all totally subscribe to access it.]
Usually you think of cultural standards becoming more relaxed over time. Like, we tolerate media allusions to kinky sex better today than we would 30 years ago. But was there really ever a time when pedophilia was an acceptable advertising technique? Apparently yes, in 1970's cosmetics!:

Remarkable.
[Dear Jane Sample via Adfreak]
For years I have been saying I would go see Band From TV, and on Saturday I finally did it! OMG these guys and gals sing and play as good as they act. Saturday night’s lineup included James Denton, Jesse Spencer, Greg Grunberg, Bob Guiney, Hayden Panittere, Jorge Garcia, Teri Hatcher, Zach Levi and Hugh Laurie. Laurie wasn’t scheduled to be there, but when he came on stage I nearly plotzed. It was so cool to see him playing a keyboard a few feet away from me after watching him do it for all these years on House. Talking about House, Jesse Spencer plays a mean violin, who knew you could play a mean violin? Jorge Garcia was a late add, and I am so happy he was there what a voice on him! It was also cool to see the Heroes guys and gal jam. In fact before the show started Christine Rose aka Angela Petrelli was standing next to me and all I wanted to do was ask her for spoilers for the new season but then the band came on. James Denton was also really good, I loved his Viva Las Vegas. Now I can’t believe I admitting this, but Teri Hatcher was a lot better than I thought.
It was great to see some to see some of the actors and actresses from my favorite TV shows like House, Lost, Desperate Housewives and Heroes jam together in Band From TV, but it is also admirable of these guys donate all the money to charity! I respect the actors who give back and this group let’s us be a part of it. So if you get a chance to see Band From TV live, I know I won’t wait another 2 years, do it!!!
BTW sorry about the editing and sound on the video, I am new to editing and have not figured it out yet.
Look closely - no, it’s not David Beckham, it’s Joey freaking Lawrence!
I haven’t seen this guy around in ages! And no, I don’t watch DWTS, so I haven’t seen him around in a long ass time.
I still have a hard time believing that Joey is Joey! He went all metrosexual on our asses awhile ago, but I still picture him with the mullet and all!
Dare I say he looks good - in a super gay sort of way?
A concerned reader writes to us: "I live in Jacksonville Beach, FL. We just had to put are dog to sleep. From what I see this is an English Bulldog. Now this does not make me very happy to know someone is dumping dead animal into the sea. We paid to have his ashes returned to us. From what I can see this is a male English Bulldog much like are dog. To find out that this was in fact him would make me very mad. I hope you can get to the bottom of this. If in fact someone did dumped dead animal's in the sea how long would it take to show up in NY city. He was put to sleep on July 21 2008." Yikes. I've had to put a beloved dog to sleep before and it's not fun. But, hm, I sort of doubt that... I, uh. Never mind. I'm sorry for your loss.
A spurned Scottish girl, the victim of a broken engagement by her Jersey boyfriend, set upon him with a horse whip after seeing him kiss another girl in the street. He had broken it off after she ordered the wedding dress, which made her feel "a great deal worse."
From the NYT Archive, circa 1887. Thanks to the tipster who brought it to our attention!


Sadly, "monsters" can be found wherever the sea decides to cough up its detritus. What do you make of this... thing? A reader from Salem, Mass forwards these pictures to us of something that washed up on her shores in May. I say it's a damned witch. Just look at that grin! What do you say it is? More photos after the jump.
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The mysterious Young Manhattanite writes: For months now I have been looking for a classic clip of Larry King drunk on his radio show that I heard way back in the dawn of the public Internet when my friend downloaded it from a newsgroup. It's NOWHERE online now. My friend finally found the cassette tape he transfered it to back then (yes, a cassette tape!) and redigitized it. After some digging, it appears this recording was made between 1987 and 1994 when his radio and tv shows overlapped. This witching hour call-in segment was called Open Phone America. According to Wikipedia, the phones would open up at 3 a.m. for callers to discuss any topic they pleased with Larry. Give it a good listen. Really picks up halfway through. Update: Transcript below!
Hey, the HuffPo typed it up!
Caller: I'm a student of print journalism, and I just wanted to know: what advice do you have for young people coming up into the field? Like, a lot of our professors are telling us how hard it is to get into the field at first. I'd just like to know, since you're in the field, if you have any advice on that.
[silence]
Caller: For instance, experience: is that important?
Larry King: Uh huh, sure.
Caller: Is that probably the most important?
Larry King: Well, it's way up there.
Caller: It's way up there...anything else?
Larry King: Pressure under fire, done this before, I don't want this to be his first surgery.
Caller: Okay...
Larry King: Applied himself well. These are the things that I'd have confidence in a young M.D.
Caller: Okay...I'm talking about the journalism field.
Larry King: I'm lost, what do you mean?
Caller: Journalism...I'm a student of journalism at a college and I was just wondering the most important aspect of getting into journalism. Not the medical field. I think you're exhausted from 30 nights.
Larry King: I am exhausted from 30 nights. No person, even those of us who are superhuman, those of us with Herculean appetites for the diverse and the bizarre, even those of us who have shown an aptitude to fight the good fight and stay the good long battle...even those of us can get tired. And your boy is tired after 30 consecutive nights. I have a half hour to go and I'm gonna do that half hour because I'm a pro, and that's what pros do. I'm a pro-fessional. Look it up in the book.
Caller: Okay...
Larry King: That's what we do, we're pros. We're never rude and we don't cop out. We don't tell you that we're ill or that we're looking for the farmhouse in the middle of the desert. Or that we're parched. We don't tell you that maybe the check didn't come through this month, and where the hell does it go anyway if you're a guy who's left 16 forwarding addresses?
Caller: Okay...
Larry King: So what do you do? What is the answer? Yeah, you're a little perturbed now. Kinda worried about the club.
Caller: The club?
Larry King: Don't worry about the club. Worry about, maybe, Jackie, my...haha, nah, don't worry. Okay, just cool it. Life is a breeze. Of course, some breezes as you know at 110 mph and get promoted up to hurricanes...I just thought I'd pass that along. Speaking of pass along, we're gonna pass along now to the newsroom, the Mutual Newsroom high atop the overlooking downtown, beautiful downtown studios of [slurred, Arlington?] Virginia, Washington DC. The Mutual Newsroom will get us up to date on the news headlines and we'll come back with more Open Phone America and we'll have our salute to my man Duke [?] by taking him to one of his favorite places, one of mine too: the town of Cooperstown, New York. This is the Larry King Show in Washington, and we'll be right back.
In next weeks Steppin’ Out magazine, Alison Arngrim (Nellie Oleson on “Little House on the Prairie”) sits down with Chaunce Hayden and admits who was the REAL bitch on “Little House on the Prairie - and that’s just for starters.
Arngrim’s interview was pretty damn interesting to tell you the truth, she tells some behind the scenes dirt on Little House, shares about the sad & tragic life of Dana Plato and says she even knew Liberace as a child!
Here are the best excerpts from the juicy interview:
THE REAL “LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE” BITCH:That’s an easy call. The biggest bitch on the set of “Little House On The Prairie” was Melissa Sue Anderson! Poor little blind Mary. She was seriously high maintenance. She’s not working now. She finally gave up. Plus she married a guy with a lot of money. But the worst part about Mary
Sue is that she denounced her U.S. citizenship! She moved to Canada and last year swore in on Canadian TV as a Canadian citizen! Really? How many American’s do you know who denounce their American citizenship? So many actors are desperate to become Americans. But she denounced her citizenship. Not even Johnny Depp who moved to France denounced his American citizenship. Not even the Baldwin’s who keep threatening to leave the country have denounced their American citizenship! But Melissa Sue Anderson said, “Screw you America!” She was so difficult on the show. Okay, playing a blind girl is a drag, but she was a bitch before she went blind. I really think it was her mother. She was the worst stage mother. She was a very troubled woman. Almost as bad as Dina Lohan. It was like hanging out with Yoda all day. I really don’t know what her trip was. If the show was being done now, she would be wearing hair extensions and having her nails done on the set. She would be totally Paris Hilton about the whole thing.
My dad would take Liberace to Vegas and so me and my dad would take him. I called him Uncle Lib. I would go trick or treating at his house and a butler would come to the door with a silver try and give me little plastic pumpkin’s with jelly beans in them.
Very high end.
There’s a photo of Liberace and me when I was just eight years old. Back than I just thought he was insane. I thought he was nuts. He would send a booklet to all the small towns on how to promote the show…who to call, how to advertise the show and how big his name should be on the banner. It was hilarious. It was a book on how to sell tickets. Plus he insisted nobody say he was gay. He had so many female fans who were madly in love with him and he was convinced they would be upset if they knew. But I was eight and I totally knew he was gay! My dad would say, “don’t say anything about Liberace being gay.” I say, “Um, dad… I’m eight and I know he’s gay.” The man is wearing rhinestone hot pants and his show is freakishly gay. He’s the f–king definition of gay!”
ON DANA PLATO:I went