F*ck P*t R*b*rts*n

Ya'll know the drill.

It's Friday, a time to reflect on the good and bad of the week that was. And since today is Veterans' Day, we're off to reflect, seriously, on the people who fought to make dumb li'l blogs like this'en here possible.

RIP, Pop.

Heroez
Mayor Sessions, until the political machine discovers the more than the two votes needed to end his election bid. We *love* that an 18-year-old kid with no agenda and nobody to return the favor to -- you know, besides the *voters* -- was elected. *Love* it.

Andy. Ricky Gervais is one of those rare writers who can translate what actually happens out there in a sometimes jaded and pathetic real world into pure comedy. He's f*cking brilliant. You knew this, already, though.

The LPGA, with your heart-warming story of the week.

And the cheerleaders, who became a punchline faster than a hack knock-knock joke.

Not so much...
Ashlee Simpson. Let's invoke what we call the T.O. clause in these here parts: just stop talking.

Pat Robertson. Who the f*ck are you, anyway, besides an old codger? T.O. clause for you, too...

Drew Rosenhaus. Huh. We're sensing a theme, here. Our favorite question of the week, and maybe the year, was one of the local Philly reporters asking this slicked-hair piece of trash, "What have you done for T.O. this year besides get him thrown off the team?" T-Owned.

Toyota. P*ssies.

"They are not being held responsible." The internet has pictures of men making sweet love, or is it vice versa, to horses. People who watch such things, and no, the Ol' Man is *not* one of them, don't blame the horses. Awful analogy, we know, but so, so true.

And finally, this moth-- er, kidf*cker. Jesus. Remember weeks ago when we invoked the "Witchiepoo" punishment? Yes. We'd like to order that, please, with a side of gasoline poured on grandpa's face -- oh, and a book of matches, too. Thank you.

And can we get another Diet Coke? That'd be swell.