Maybe. The picture has been making the rounds across the internet (and by rounds, I mean a British tabloid, a local NBC affiliate and a few music sites). But is it real? Probably, though there's been no official confirmation. NBC Bay Area found the deejay in the photo, Los Angeles-based DJ Dory, who wrote on her Facebook wall: "This photo was from 3 years ago... who knew?"

Who knew, indeed. It certainly looks like Zuckerberg. He's not wearing his trademark hoodie or flip-flops or anything, but it's got to be him, right? And while Green Day, Jay-Z and Taylor Swift are his professed favorites, it's not ridiculous to think the then-single Zuck would be raving in 2009. If it is him, it's definitely not the most embarrassing photo he's had hit the web.

This healthy male American Bulldog mix is scheduled to be put down later today at the Rabies Control shelter in Jackson, Tennesee.

"Not bc he is mean or bc he tears things up," says a Facebook user who calls herself the "Jackson Madison Rabies Control Stalker."

No: "Because his owner says he's gay."

According to the 39-year-old mother-of-four who pays regular visits to the kill shelter looking for dogs to rescue, this unloved pooch was rejected because he was found "hunched [over]" another male dog.

"His owner threw him away bc he refuses to have a 'gay' dog!" she writes. "Don't let this gorgeous dog die [because] his owner is ignorant of normal dog behavior! He's in kennel 10L and he WILL be put down tomorrow bc there is no room at the inn!"

Never ones to shy away from a good cause, Facebook users from across the country jumped at the opportunity to rescue the doomed dog.

Multiple people and at least one canine rescue group volunteered to show up at the shelter as soon as the doors open this morning and have him pulled from death row.

"I am adopting this big boy first thing in the morning," wrote Facebook user Stephanie Fryns of WOOF Connections. "He will be neutered/ htwm tested/ and vetted. He will be temperament tested and then places in a rescue verified and approved home."

Per her latest update, she is already outside the shelter, waiting to be let in: "I have talked to them.. they know and will let me in at open. :)"

UPDATE: Rescued! According to The Tennessean, Gawker's coverage of the "gay dog" story had resulted in a flood of calls to the Jackson shelter where he was being kept. "I have had about 10 million calls this morning. It has been adopted already. It is gone," said an unnamed shelter employee. "He's in good hands."

[photos via Facebook]

It's now been more than 30 hours since police began negotiating with Jimmy Lee Dykes, the 65-year-old "anti-government" "doomsday prepper" who allegedly shot and killed and a school bus driver before retreating with a six-year-old hostage to an underground bunker on his Alabama property. Authorities say the boy, who remains unidentified, is okay — he's been given medicine and a coloring book and crayons — but the situation is "static" and the endgame is unclear.

Worse, since Dykes is a survivalist, his bunker is well-stocked with food and other necessary items. He had a reputation among his neighbors as "standoffish" :

A clearer picture of the man at the center of the standoff is also starting to come into focus. Neighbors described Dykes as being "anti-government" and "a long time concern" and expressed no surprise that he could be involved in such a situation with law enforcement.

Court records show that Dykes was supposed to be in court Wednesday morning to face menacing charges. Being holed up in a bunker, he never made it to the courthouse.

The bus driver he allegedly killed, Charles Albert Poland, was shot three or four times, apparently after attempting to block Dykes from taking his hostage.

[WSFA]

This week, internet website "The Awl" sparked a minor uproar when it ran an article parodying the voice of Business Insider's Henry Blodget under Blodget's byline—when, in fact, the article was written by someone at The Awl, as a parody. It's not hard to see the potential for confusion. How is the average reader supposed to know that Henry Blodget himself did not label his own career "a testament to the total decline in the traditional concepts of personal responsibility and moral behavior?"

It's become clear that in today's internet, expecting readers to magically know what is supposed to be "parody" or "satire" or "sarcasm" or "a joke" or "funny" is simply asking too much. With the comfort of everyone in mind, please allow us to suggest a few simple best practices for using humor online.

Many writers who came of age in the early days of blogs were sheltered in small audience ghettos, read only by friends and like-minded wannabe-comedians, whose social milieu was similar enough that detecting jokes was not a great problem. But as we've all grown rich and successful and widely read in places unused to our particular brand of wry, unbearably obnoxious sarcasm (like the offices of Business Insider), it is only right to make allowances for the fact that not everyone approaches our work with the background knowledge that would allow them to pick up on when we are, or aren't joking. Do our headlines faithfully reflect our true belief, or is there "sarcasm" lurking behind them? Did we really secure a famous writer to mock himself on our site in a gross exaggeration of his own writing style—or is this another one of our little tricks?

It's unfair of us, America's self-indulgent online writers, to expect the average reader to be able to tease out these hidden meanings. Going forward, we recommend the following guidelines when using "humor" online—so everyone can enjoy the fun.

• Blinking text: When the reader sees the text blinking, he will say to himself, "Ahoy! Humor ahead."
• Spanish punctuation: It's a stretch to imagine that readers can pick up on subtle humor when it's formatted so that it blends seamlessly into the rest of the text. But what happens when they come across an exclamation point... that's upside down? Ay, dios mio!
• Footnotes: All instances of humor should be fully explained with footnotes. A simple rule. Follow it.
• Pictures of clowns: Not everyone is a librarian type who can understand and appreciate the meaning of words, punctuation, footnotes, or writing in general. Pictures of clowns send a clear message: humor, in this vicinity.

¡Bo Obama Receives Visiting Dognitaries From Furuguay[1]

¡The historic meeting-the first time a sitting Furuguayan[2] dognitary[3] has visited Woofington[4] since the Checkers Administration[5]-began with a traditional photo op on the White House portico, in which the two leaders formally greeted one another by shaking paws[6]. ¡After brief prepared rebarks[7], Bo and the Furuguayan diplomutts[8] reportedly retired to the South Lawn for a private discussion of minimum wag[9] laws and a pending flea trade agreement[10].[11].

1) This headline is not from a real news story. The notion of Bo Obama, the president's dog, actually being president himself is being used to humorous effect.
2) Like "Uruguayan."
3) Like "dignitary."
4) Like "Washington."
5) Not a real administration.
6) Like shaking hands, but for dogs.
7) Like "remarks."
8) Like "diplomats."
9) Like "minimum wage."
10) Like "free trade agreement."
11) What you just read was a joke.

¡Better!

Top image by Jim Cooke.

To the litany of disastrous news about our nation's huge student debt burden, we can add this: more and more of that debt is being held by the borrowers least able to pay it back.

A new report says that subprime student loans—the least likely to be repaid—are rising. From the WSJ:

In all, 33% of all subprime student loans in repayment were 90 days or more past due in March 2012, up from 24% in 2007, according to a Wednesday report by TransUnion LLC.

Meanwhile, the Chicago-based credit bureau found that 33% of the almost $900 billion in outstanding student loans was held by subprime, or the riskiest, borrowers as of March 2012, up from 31% in 2007.

Student loan delinquency in general has been rising. Greater amounts of subprime student loans will no doubt magnify the problem. Not to worry, though: only slightly less than half of Americans are "one emergency away from financial ruin."

And hey, when has America ever been burned by subprime loans?

[WSJ. Photo: Shutterstock]

Is Ronaiah Tuiasosopo — the would-be gospel singer who crafted an elaborate fake online persona and "catfished" college football star Manti Te'o — gay? When Dr. Phil asked him for a soon-to-broadcast interview, Tuisasosopo said "yes." And then he quickly called himself "confused." And then he said this:

"You've heard of recovering drug addicts? It takes a lot of courage to stand and say that," he said "To recover from homosexuality and this type of thing. Not only that, coming back to your real life, as hard as a task as that is I'm going to do all that I can to live right."

I'm not a doctor, or anything, but, Ronaiah. Dude.

[AP]

The first round of firings at HMV were confirmed today, just two weeks after the British entertainment retailer entered administration.

And, judging by the company's official Twitter account, the sacked employees are none-too-pleased to be laid off.

A group of rogue Human Resources employees have apparently hijacked HMV's Twitter account to blast the company for its "mass execution of loyal employees who love the brand."

According to The Independent, professional services firm Deloitte, which was brought in on January 15th to handle HMV's administration, has so far cut 190 jobs "across the head office and distribution network."

The disgruntled HR employees claim they were under contract and couldn't speak out, but were unable to remain silent longer while their beloved company was "being ruined."

"Under usual circumstances, we'd never dare do such a thing as this," wrote the employees, who concluded their livestream five minutes later with a defiant farewell: "So really, what have we to lose? It's been a pleasure folks! Best wishes to you all!"

25 minutes later, all unauthorized tweets were scrubbed from the feed.

HMV has yet to comment on the Twitter takeover.

[screengrab via Breaking News]

Do you have a Y-chromosome and also a keenly refined rustic aesthetic? Are you eager to go camping but hesitant to put yourself in a position where you could ever be out-of-doors? Do you have $40 to blow on a hand-stitched "masculine, yet understated" leather keychain?

Sounds like you're in the market for a fastidiously planned adventure.

The Wilderness Collective is a company that specializes in curating artisanal manliness by coordinating expeditions that invite robust young gentlebros "to find out what [they] are made of; to be measured by the wilderness." For $2,500 ($3,500 with bike rental), you can "reclaim masculinity through adventure." Included in the cost is a videographer on-hand to record the masculine rebirth for sick Facebook videos.

One such adventure was a recent expedition to California. We've assembled a quick highlight reel above, but it is highly recommended that you experience the full seven minutes for yourself.

"It's almost as if the wild was designed as a proving ground for men," the narrator begins, letting you know right away that what is about to happen is terrible.

It's almost as if nature were an extremely realistic CGI Mario-world for humans. Almost as if Earth were an elaborate obstacle course constructed in the backyard by mankind's coolest babysitter, God.

The men lock up their cellphones for an entire three-day weekend so that they can "be present"; they unload cars and set up a campsite even though no one specifically told them to do that.

Each guy wasn't told what to do but they found a job; they found a place where they could lead, a place where they could be responsible. It was almost called out of them by the situation we were in; we had to set up a camp.

And once camp is broken, out come the "craft cocktails and artisan food."

We were dead tired but our headlights guided the way through these twists and turns all the way through to this second camp. and when we showed up the craft cocktails and the Artisan food and there were such welcome friends under this endless starry sky.

As his wildebros assemble their craft cocktails, the narrator issues a gibberish call to arms against "eroding masculinity," which is under assault from those who depict men as "weak, and blundering, and misguided and shallow." Out here in the bosom of wild nature, he says, they can be "ever more intentional to carve out time for camaraderie, for adventure and introspection."

In the foreground, his ur-men are shown preparing grilled artichokes, tucking into a bowl brimming with store-bought strawberries, and carefully slicing into a wedge of cheese WITH A FANCY CHEESE KNIFE.

The video's dramatic conclusion finds our lonely heroes savoring the beauty of nature as they roar down a paved road, through a man-made tunnel, while beeping their motorcycle horns at passing automobiles. Emerging on the tunnel's other side (INTO A PARKING LOT), they hop off their bikes, smoke victory cigars ("the cigars were broke out"), and realize that "have quickly become a band of brothers."

This is a group of outdoorsmen who put the "Wilde" in wilderness. Who crave the danger of Eagle Scout camping, but lack the survival skills. Who bring a French press on a three-day camping trip.

At one crucial junction, the moto-caravan pulls over just so that its members can throw axes at wood.

Almost as if the wood was designed for axes to be thrown at it.

Hell hath no fury like a pastor scorned by the Internet.

After a copy of her Applebee's receipt began circulating online yesterday, Pastor Alois Bell of the St. Louis-based Truth in the World Deliverance Ministries phoned up the restaurant and asked to have everyone involved fired.

"My heart is really broken," the 37-year-old told The Smoking Gun. "I've brought embarrassment to my church and ministry."

Last Friday, after evening services, Bell and her congregation headed to Applebee's for dinner as they did on many nights.

But a disagreement over the establishment's auto-gratuity of 18% for parties of 8 or more would soon propel the pastor to the heights of Internet infamy.

"I give God 10% why do you get 18," Bell wrote on her credit card receipt after crossing out the tip amount she was obliged to pay.

A server working at the restaurant uploaded a scan of the receipt to Reddit, and the rest is viral history.

Though Bell was denied her request to have a brand new staff awaiting her the next time she dined at her neighborhood Applebee's, she did succeed in getting at least one person fired: The waitress who posted the receipt online.

"I originally posted the note as a lighthearted joke," Chelsea Welch told Consumerist. "I thought the note was insulting, but it was also comical. I posted it to Reddit because I thought other users would find it entertaining."

They did — but Bell did not.

The pastor called it a "lapse in my character and judgment" that "has been blown out of proportion." Somewhat an ironic statement coming from someone who ordered Applebee's to fire everyone who came into contact with the receipt.

For her part, Welch did what she could to avoid having Bell's identity exposed, asking Reddit to stop posting the personal information of potential culprits.

In fact, Bell still isn't sure what exactly she did wrong.

"I didn't break any specific guidelines in the company handbook - I checked," said Welch, who had no complaints about her service prior to this week. "Because this person got embarrassed that their selfishness was made public, Applebee's has made it clear that they would rather lose a dedicated employee than lose an angry customer. That's a policy I can't understand."

Neither will Reddit, which is no longer being kept at bay by Welch, and has already put out a call to "grab them pitchforks."

[photos via Reddit, The Smoking Gun]

30 Rock ends tonight, after seven seasons on NBC, with little of the fanfare that surrounds a grand television event. Instead, it feels as if the show has already slid into the semi-obscurity of syndication. The critics would rather talk about Parks and Recreation and Girls; the Internet hive mind is swarming over Community and Louie; the awards shows have switched their allegiance to Modern Family. And the American viewing public? Well, it never liked 30 Rock all that much in the first place. At its peak, in its third season, it was the 69th most popular prime-time series in the country.

It's not that the show's been panned. It remains solidly commended and impossibly funny—in the first season, third season, fifth season, or seventh season.

But the polite, somewhat bored appreciation is much less than the show deserves. 30 Rock has been a brave and meaningful series, with a moral force behind its joke-a-minute slapstick pacing. It's maybe the last show on television to believe that jokes can do something more than cheer you up.

The central concern of 30 Rock is this: People don't understand each other. That's the basic structure of jokes-person one says something, and person two hears something different—but it's also a philosophical problem. Two people, both speaking English, supplemented by body language, converse, yet their actual meanings remain inaccessible to one another. Over the course of the show, Liz Lemon gradually realizes that almost no one around her comprehends her. There is an irreducible distance between her and everyone else. (Writers may sense this problem more acutely than other people do.)

In a sixth-season episode, she gets in a fight with Jenna, her truest friend for more than a decade. Liz chooses a new best friend—one she found in the Barnes and Noble bathroom—only to find they make each other terrified and unhappy after 15 minutes together. Jenna fares no better. So the original friends reunite: "I need someone who has so little going on in her life, she lets me get all the attention," Jenna says. "And I need someone in my life who doesn't listen to a word I say," Liz says. "Thank you. I just got it cut," Jenna replies. This is nearly identical to a conversation from the first season:

Liz: You're not even listening, are you? Poop. Monkey butt.

Jenna: No, you're a good friend, and thank you.

The friendship hasn't grown in five years, because there's nothing much there. That's one of Liz's less disappointing relationships. She and Wesley, her charming British "future husband," fell in love while they were under anesthesia—only to despise each other within days after they came to, unable to regain the closeness of their gas-addled communication.

It was even worse with Drew, the boyfriend played by Jon Hamm. The dumb, gorgeous Drew lives in "a bubble," where everyone's too wowed by his looks to tell him that he can't play tennis or make a salmon bourguignon with Gatorade. Liz tries to force him out. He leaves for a while, but he can't bear it. "I didn't like it outside the bubble. It was very ironic," he tells her. "No, it wasn't—that's not how you use that word," Liz replies. Drew: "Stop it. I want to use 'ironic' however I want. I want to stay in the bubble." It's a clever, pitch-perfect little exchange, but it's also a horribly depressing one: He doesn't care what words should mean to other people.

By the seventh season, Lemon finds herself happily married to James Marsden's Criss Chros only because he puts himself second. His life revolves around knowing and understanding her and making her happy. Does she understand him? Probably not. What's his inner life like? The show doesn't say.

The people who work around Liz—the coworkers who would compose a surrogate family on a less sophisticated show—don't understand her at all. The lazy, unserious writers just mock her. Pete has proudly quit on life. Cerie frequently misunderstands Liz. (One misunderstanding gave us one of the series's best exchanges: "You told me to be more proactive." "No, I told you to buy more Proactiv," Lemon says, pointing at her face.)

But no one at TGS really stands a chance of understanding anyone else. In "Apollo, Apollo," the camera briefly shows us visions of the world through the eyes of Kenneth, Jack, and Tracy. The naive goober Kenneth sees everyone as Muppets. Jack sees everyone and everything with price tags floating above them, like the prize rooms they used to have on Wheel of Fortune. And Tracy, simply enough, sees all his coworkers with his head atop their bodies. They all live with it.

Jack and Liz do understand each other. Sort of. When he tells her of an impending hiatus in "Plan B," she doesn't get that that means cancellation. "I thought we understood each other!" Jack says. Liz replies, "And I thought you understood that you are never to think I understand anything!" But Jack also has the power of understanding the mute Kathy Geiss, who communicates like a lizard. His curse is that he can't carry this ability outside the workplace. He didn't recognize how his mother felt about him until after she died.

Even with Avery Jessup, in his most successful relationship, words fail him. The relationship plods on past the proper endpoint, because each is too afraid to reveal their desire to be apart. When they finally do split—at a vows-renewal ceremony, where no one in the audience bites on "Speak now, or forever hold your peace"—they're outraged that no one else understood them enough to demand their split earlier. 

Each of 30 Rock's moments of misunderstanding, taken in isolation, upsets the viewer. It's sad that this friendship can't grow, or that this romance won't work, or that this page is rotting at his core. But the show tempers that disappointment. As of last week, each character had earned a major triumph—Liz and Jenna find happy domestic lives, and Jack and Kenneth find powerful positions at Kabletown. And, more importantly, 30 Rock's viewer never needs to take any of these moments in isolation. The next joke will happily move you along.

Like few other shows, 30 Rock has refused to turn to melodrama. Growth, change, and disappointment aren't signaled by a shift in tone. They arrive on the same terms as everything else, along with the gags. It doesn't ask you to consider it profound or meaningful. It's as deep as the viewer is willing to make it.

Jack Dickey writes for Deadspin.

This is pertinent.

I hadn't thought about this in years, but the recent Manti Te'o Catfishing scandal reminded me that I, too, had a fake girlfriend in college. And what's more, I was an aspiring football player at the time (about 10 years ago). This hoax was all my doing, not something I was the "victim" of.

It was all in service of the sport and my attempt to fit in.

I can't reveal my fake girlfriend's name, because it belonged to a real person; the cousin of a girl that went to my gym so many years ago. I met her once and knew almost nothing bout her (she had blonde hair). My high school grades prevented me from going straight to college, so I spent some time in prep school. During that time, my last (real) heterosexual relationship fell apart, and I started telling people about the new, fake girl. I even told my ex-girlfriend about that girl. During this time, I was playing football with my sights set on a Division 1 college.

I knew I was gay, but I felt like I couldn't be out as a football player. At that age, it just seemed impossible. You never saw gay people playing football. And then there was the actual homophobia in the air. In prep school, I'd hear people call each other "faggot" all the time in the locker room. I kept my head down, scared to look at anyone. In junior college, which I attended between prep school stints, it was the same way. I didn't get changed after practice – I'd go back to my room. I wasn't really attracted to the guys, anyway. There is nothing erotic about football to me, and I don't ever think of football and sex together. I guess it's sort of like when your friend lets you know he's 100 percent straight and immediately becomes off limits.

It was really scary. When you're starting out at prep school or college or whatever, it's a bunch of people just meeting for the first time, playing a super competitive sport where you're hitting each other. Back then, you didn't want people to find out you were gay at 18, 19 years old.

During this time, I would try to say as little about my "girlfriend" as possible, just when it was necessary. If I was going to see a guy one weekend, most likely a married one I had met off AOL, I was "going to see her." If I had to go call a guy, I'd be "calling her." I remember certain truths about the girl, like what her father did for a living and who she was related to, but that's about all I would say.

I had a fake AIM name for my fake girlfriend. I'd login to her account in a school's computer lab, lock the computer, go to my dorm room and IM her so that her away message came up. Everyone was in and out of everyone else's rooms, and I was one of the only ones with a computer. People definitely saw that message. My roommate never did, though. He didn't care. He played basketball and was kind of awkward.

After my second stint in prep school, I was in the midst of getting recruited by Division 1 colleges when I shattered my leg. I was home for eight weeks with titanium in my ankle and I had a boyfriend at the time. I would still talk about that girl to people. I told my mom I was gay because I was going crazy. I started playing football again. I had an air cast and I couldn't do anything. I was limping around.

I started applying to schools, and even after I got into a Division 1 AA school, I kept up the girlfriend charade. I couldn't yet play, but I was going to walk on the team and the coaches knew me. I got to school before the other students arrived for the semester. The coaches would say things like, "We need to get you cleared." I'd go to the trainers who had all of my medical information. I had to do physical therapy. I knew the players. I was part of the football culture, and I believed for a while that joining the team was right around the corner. This motivated my continued lies.

One day, I invited this girl to the mall. She was so dressed up. We went to dinner after. I started talking about this made-up girl and she was incredulous: "You have a girlfriend?" I then realized this girl thought we were on a date.

I ended up joining a gay rugby team in New York, and I gave them a fake name so that I couldn't be traced. I was only out to some people at that point, may of them in New York: I worked at Urge, I worked at the Roxy a couple of times. I was going to gay bars, but I wasn't out.

I stopped trying to get on the football team around the time I joined rugby. It was just too difficult a process, because of the school and myself. I knew that I had a choice: play football and end up killing myself or just come out. When I came out, it was like taking a deep breath. The pressure of getting on the team went away and it was like, "Fuck this. What have I been doing the last seven years?"

Once I came out, the football team just completely stopped pursuing me. That wasn't until the middle of my third year of college. I never knew if it was a mutual disinterest or what. I just wanted to fuck. I went from having a 3.4 my first two years to a .9. My senior year I had a 1.3. I was never at school. I was in New York all the time hooking up.

I never made an effort to figure out why the team stopped calling me. I was unavailable anyway. But the football players on my floor always came for me, to mock me. People would write "FAGGOT" on my door. I'd get them back by putting shitty used condoms on their doorknob. I knew who they were. I'd fuck tricks in the communal showers. I'd walk around the dorm in just a towel, waiting for someone to say something. When I came out, I really came out. Once we were having a debate in an ethics class I was taking, and the whole room split against me. There was a kid on the football team who knew me and he stood up for me. It was weird.

The funny thing was that when I came out, no one referenced this girl. No one called me on it. I think my ex-girlfriend would be one of the few who'd still remember that girl. I never told her I had been lying.

My world changed as a result of coming out. Family stopped talking to me. My friends looked at me differently. A sport I wanted to play my whole life seemed no longer an option. I look back now and I know I could have played. I could have been good. But I was dealing with depression, alcohol, drugs, sex…

In retrospect, I think I could have played football at that school and nothing would have happened. When I played rugby, it was on straight men's leagues. I was so out and people rarely said shit to me. There was a fight between one of my teammates and a member of the team we were playing. I went to break it up and he tried to punch me and I laid him out in front of his wife and kids. I told him, "You just got your ass kicked by a faggot." Another time, a guy called me a faggot and we got into a fight and I beat him up. Once you come out, you're out. It's sink or swim. I wasn't going to let anyone see me crack. I remember some queen telling me that at the Roxy: "You can't ever let anyone see you crack in this town. If you're going to start crying, you're in the wrong city." I took that to heart.

I wish I could have played football with that attitude: say something, do something. I'm not 5'10", 140. I'm not a kicker. I was 6'3", 270 then, benching 450 lbs. I wasn't some little kid.

Looking back, part of me wishes that I would have played, but then I would have missed out on the experience I had going out, learning about myself, understanding my sexuality. And I definitely wouldn't have wanted to miss that.

Image by Jim Cooke, source photo via Brocreative/Shutterstock.

For the past decade, Sabrina De Sousa has been enmeshed in a Kafkaesque fight to clear her name in connection to an illegal CIA operation that has never officially been acknowledged to exist. Today we're hosting a Q & A with the alleged CIA agent, starting at 2pm.

De Sousa's saga began in 2003, the height of the War on Terror, when a radical Muslim cleric named Abu Omar was kidnapped from the streets of Milan, Italy as part of the CIA's extraordinary rendition program. Omar was brought to Egypt for interrogation, where he claims he was tortured by Egyptian authorities, and imprisoned for four years. What made this particular case remarkable is the fact that it came spectacularly to light in 2009, when Italian prosecutors charged and convicted 23 Americans for their role in the kidnapping.

One of those people is Sabrina De Sousa. An Italian court convicted De Sousa in absentia of being a CIA agent who helped coordinate the kidnapping and sentenced her to five years in prison. She's been reported to be ex-CIA by multiple outlets, but when asked she's careful to say only that she was "listed as a State Department officer" with the U.S consulate in Milan at the time. However, she is unequivocal in asserting that she had no connection to Abu Omar's kidnapping. De Sousa didn't know Omar was being kidnapped that day in 2003, she says, and was on a ski trip in the Alps with her kids at the moment of the kidnapping. "This is a bit of scapegoatery" for an embarrassing and illegal CIA operation gone wrong, De Sousa says.

Most of De Sousa's fellow convicts have faded into obscurity, but De Sousa has launched a public campaign to clear her name, giving numerous interviews and appealing to State Department officials for help. De Sousa is driven in part by the effect the case has had on her personal life: A European arrest warrant hanging over her head has made visiting her family in India an onerous affair; she's had trouble finding a new job with her unusual international fugitive status. But she also sees her case as a warning sign to other U.S. government employees and military personnel abroad: that when things go wrong, the U.S. will throw you under the bus.

"I think the number one thing that needs to become public is that Washington is not going to have anyone's back," she says. "I'm an accredited diplomat. And that's why other people should know what's going on: Washington's going to throw them out to the battlefield without any protection anymore."

Her battle hasn't gotten much easier as the case has faded from the headlines. A lawsuit she filed in 2009 in an effort to force the government to invoke diplomatic immunity for her dismissed last year, though the judge called her case "potentially demoralizing" for other U.S. employees abroad. The U.S. government still has not acknowledged the extraordinary rendition program, and the Obama administration has been as unwilling to discuss the Bush administration's misdeeds as it is its own secret drone program.

"I would like my name cleared, number one," De Sousa says. "And to do that the president has to at least acknowledge this rendition."

Please ask your questions below; Sabrina De Sousa will be answering them starting at 2pm

Former Nebraska Senator Chuck Hagel, Obama's nominee for Secretary of Defense, totally bombed his confirmation hearing in front of the Senate today. How can you tell? Just look at the photos AP and Getty had available:

Of course, it could be that Hagel didn't "blow it" so much as he gave reasonable if passive answers to a lot of nonsense questions about Israel, and withstood a weirdly personal barrage of questions about Iraq from his old friend John McCain. But, no — it's gotta be that he blew it, right? Look at these photos of sad Chuck Hagel!

And sure, you could point out that he's still going to be Secretary of Defense — he still has Democratic support, and the Democrats control the Senate — but I saw the photos. Total disaster!

The Dr. Frankenstein who wrought Kate Middleton's infamously terrible official portait upon the world has finally been negged into submission: driven mad by the endless bad press, he has created a second, lovely portrait in black and white.

But he won't let anyone take pictures of it.

After the initial painting was unveiled (the duchess pretended to love it because you're there, the photographers are there, and you've already rented the big red curtain from the curtain-rental place, so what are you gonna do?), artist Paul Emsley faced a savage barrage of criticism from people with eyes who hated it.

In The Independent, her cheeks were "hamsterish." A columnist for The Washington Post described the picture as "terrifying." Basically, if there were adjectives that could convey the sensation of vomiting up stomach bile, people used them when describing this smiling portrait.

Emsley described the attack as a "witch hunt" (only witch here is the one he painted instead of Kate Middleton) and labeled the attacks "vicious."

In response, the Washington Post explains, he literally went back to the drawing board, creating new sketches to see if there was anything he should have done differently, like not make Kate Middleton look haggard as fuck.

The result, apparently: indescribable beauty.

Here's how the paper describes That Which Cannot Be Photographed:

This time, it was the way the duchess's devoted followers so often see her in glossy magazines and airbrushed photos. Flawless. Glamorous. The fairy-tale beauty who bagged a prince.

Emsley says drawing the new picture only made more certain that the initial portrait was his best.

He refuses to let the second version be photographed; instead, he'll will keep it "for private purposes" at his studio.

Of course he will. Who wouldn't want that version in their office?

It sounds way hotter.

[Washington Post // Image via AP]

A number of people have reportedly been injured in an explosion at the Mexico City skyscraper that serves as the offices of Pemex, the state-owned oil monopoly. Details right now are scarce, but the company confirmed via Twitter that people were injured on the ground floor and mezzanine level of the building. According to Telemundo, the explosion was caused by an electrical issue.

Reuters is reporting that one person has died and at least 20 more were injured, but those numbers have not been officially confirmed and will surely become more accurate as the night wears on. On Sept. 12 of last year, at least 30 died after an explosion at a Pemex plant in Northern Mexico.

Pemex, or Petróleos Mexicanos, is one of the most valuable enterprises in the world. We'll update this story throughout the night.

UPDATE: The AP is reporting that 14 people have died and 80 have been injured. Those numbers may also not be final, as people are still believed to be trapped in the rubble.

[via Reuters, image of firefighters at Pemex blast site via AP]

Just like Katie Couric's interview with Manti Te'o last week, Dr. Phil's session with Te'o's hoaxer Ronaiah Tuiasosopo was basically a lot of sorry explanations from Ronaiah followed by an equal number "are you for real?" faces from Dr. Phil.

*DRAMATIC REENACTMENT*

Dr. Phil: You can speak in that voice?

Ronaiah: Correct.

Dr. Phil: Let me hear that voice.

Ronaiah: I-I can't.

Dr. Phil: Gimme a little of the voice?

Ronaiah: Um... I'm sorry, it's really awkward and uncomfortable.

Dr. Phil: So when you lef that voicemail, that's you on the phone, alone, nobody else is in the room? That's you on the phone?

Ronaiah: That's me.

Dr. Phil: Without question, that is your voice on the voicemails that we played?

Ronaiah: Correct.

Dr. Phil: People need to see you speak in that voice. What's the easiest way for you to do that?

Ronaiah: I can't.

Dr. Phil: So you're telling me that you're telling the truth and I'm telling you that the best scientific analysis in the world is saying it is not, so I'm saying just do the voice.

Ronaiah: For me to just do it, like, you know, I've never done it in front of people. Every single time I have ever spoken in that voice I was never by people. I was in a dark room away from people.

Dr. Phil: Did you ever just wake up and forget to use Lennay's voice?

Ronaiah: I'm not trying to be funny but that's kind of a rookie mistake.

And scene.

But Dr. Phil — a true TV vet — left us guessing about whether or not Ronaiah's "Lennay Kakua" voice could possibly be for real until the second half of the interview airs tomorrow. Really, Dr. Phil?

Update: Dr. Phil's lawyers have asked us to remove the video that previously accompanied this post. In its place, please accept the above textual reenactment.

Some cops play by the rules, others do not. Gerald Gibson is a narcotics officer in Philadelphia who allegedly does not play by the rules. He's also the son-in-law of Pennsylvania governor Tom Corbett (pictured above). This should be fun.

According to NBC Philadelphia, Gibson has been placed on administrative leave after an FBI sting. In that sting, Gibson was reportedly told to search a vehicle. He was then observed via a hidden camera taking money from that car — the money, of course, was placed there by the FBI.

Details beyond that — like what Gibson did in the first place to arouse the suspicion of the FBI — have not yet trickled out, but the Philadelphia PD did acknowledge that one of their officers has been removed from duty.

Police are not naming Gibson as the officer, but they did send out a brief statement about the investigation late Thursday, explaining that an officer was removed from his duties after a joint investigation by the FBI and their Internal Affairs Unit. In their statement, the officer is not identified, police say, because he hasn't been arrested or charged with any crime.

This image of Gibson via NBC Philadelphia shows the officer just a few bodies down from Gov. Corbett during his inauguration.

He appears to be eying Corbett intently — or maybe he just spotted a wad of cash.

[via NBC Philadelphia, image via Getty]

Early this morning, veteran Kaufman, Tex. County prosecutor Mark E. Hasse, pictured above, was walking across an employee parking lot near the courthouse there like he probably has countless of times. But today was different: at least one gunman hopped out of a Ford Taurus and murdered him in broad daylight before speeding off. Witnesses described a scene that seemed ripped straight from a million generic Hollywood films: the assailants were wearing masks, vests and all-black clothing.

Now, policemen in the town just southeast of Dallas will try and unravel who ordered the hit. According to the AP, Hasse once served as the chief of the organized crime division of the Dallas County district attorney's office, so there's likely a litany of possibilities. One, though, sticks out due to recency:

Kaufman County prosecutors have been involved in investigations of the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas prison gang. In November, federal officials in Houston thanked a number of local agencies for their work - including Kaufman County prosecutors - when more than 30 senior leaders and other members of the gang were indicted on federal racketeering charges.

Someone somewhere got their man this morning, but "state prosecutor" would be very, very low on a list of people that one could safely assassinate in front of a bunch of witnesses. Good luck (well, not really) to whoever's trying to get away with this one.

[via NY Times, image via AP]

Good news for the entirety of the internet, which it turns out is an entity solely supported by people arguing about "Girls": HBO has picked up another show to be helmed by Lena Dunham hired Dunham to write a new pilot. It's called "Harlem," and will see Dunham profiling the lives of those in New York City's worst projects in a show that insiders are likening to "The Wire." Just kidding.

Lena Dunham, creator/star/executive producer of hot comedy Girls, has teamed with her Girls co-showrunner, executive producer Jenni Konner, for another potential HBO comedy series set in New York. The pay cable network has optioned All Dressed Up And Everywhere To Go, the upcoming memoir by long-time Bergdorf Goodman personal shopper and New York institution Betty Halbreich. Dunham and Konner plan to write together the TV project, which will delve into the life of Halbreich who has spent decades working with the rich and famous.

So, basically "The Devil Wears Prada" on television? Sounds about right. Dunham probably loves that movie, as she should, because it's a great movie. Halbreich has been a personal shopper for various movie stars with no time to shop and New York City socialites with nothing to do but shop (and take cocaine).

There's been no timetable set for Dunham's new vehicle, which will also be executive produced by shadow male Judd Apatow. "Girls" itself has already been renewed for a third season, which means that Dunham will soon rule the world even if no one really watches her show.

[via Deadline, image via Getty]

Ed Koch, the former New York City Mayor who took the city back from the financial brink before presiding over its crack epidemic and AIDS crisis, died of congestive heart failure early this morning. He was 88.

Koch successfully navigated the city to financial health, a major accomplishment, and helped ease New York's housing predicament. But his mayoralty was also marked by corruption, and the city he presided over was one suffering deeply from homelessness, the crack epidemic, and fraught racial relations that his blunt style, and abusive police force, did little to assuage. Widely understood to be a closeted gay man, Koch's inaction during the early stages of the AIDS crisis earned him the eternal enmity of the activists in the ACT UP crew, and the playwright Larry Kramer, who called Koch an "evil man."

But he's best remembered by people who came to the city after his tenure as a character: a combative, funny, movie-reviewing crank, a New Yorker's New Yorker. If nothing else this is a tribute to his charisma, though it also tells us something about the odd and inevitable nostalgia current New York has for its mythically "gritty" past.

This is a photo of Koch with Diana Ross:

Koch, the son of Jewish immigrants from Poland, was born in the Bronx in 1924. After a stint in the Army during and just after World War II (Koch helped de-Nazify Bavaria after V-Day), Koch got a law degree and spent two decades in private practice in the city; in 1963, Koch ran for, and won, his first office: district leader of Greenwich Village, a position from which he ousted Democratic power broker Carmine De Sapio. From there, he jumped to City Council; from there, to Congress, where he earned a reputation as a reliable anti-war liberal.

Koch stayed in Congress for eight years. In 1977, he ran for Mayor of New York City in a crowded Democratic field that included the incumbent, Abe Beame, and future governor Mario Cuomo. The city had been left in near bankruptcy by Beame's predecessor John Lindsay and Beame was widely disliked; Koch, calling himself a "liberal with sanity," ran as an efficient, competent manager who could steer New York back to prosperity and reduce crime. He supported the death penalty, bashed welfare, and made a campaign promise to eliminate the Board of Education.

One problem with the image he was trying to craft: Koch was single, and gay. Koch never come out of the closet, and generally refused to answer questions about his sexuality (once, though only once, he described himself as "heterosexual" publicly), but even in the late 1970s it was widely understood: "VOTE FOR CUOMO, NOT THE HOMO," read an unofficial Cuomo placard. (In response, Koch began to step out with Bess Myerson, a close friend and former Miss America.)

Rumors aside, Koch's rightward turn worked. He beat Cuomo by a percentage point in the primary, and by a wider margin in the runoff, before going on to take the general election. Once in office, Koch laid off 10 percent of the city's staff, cut services, settled with unions, went after patronage and took out billions of dollars in loans. It worked: the city began to recover.

This is a photo of Koch with Ronald Reagan:

Koch won a second term easily, and after an embarrassing failure in the 1982 gubernatorial race, settled in to a rocky decade. Homelessness and crime increased, driven in part by the crack epidemic, and AIDS, new and not entirely understood, was leading to hundreds, then thousands, of deaths. Koch did little to stop the rise of crack cocaine, and his police force was implicated in a series of brutal incidents, exacerbating his tense relationship with the black community, which had been difficult since he closed Harlem's Sydenham Hospital in his first term (a decision for which he later expressed regret).

His relationship to New York African-Americans was sunny compared with his legacy among AIDS activists and many New York gay men. Though he'd been gay-friendly as mayor, he took almost no action against the burgeoning epidemic, which was claiming thousands of lives in New York City alone. Many blamed his neglect on his fear of acknowledging his own sexual orientation. Years later, Larry Kramer was still deeply angry:

We must never forget that this man was an active participant in helping us to die, in murdering us. Call it what you will, that is what Edward Koch was, a murderer of his very own people. There is no way to avoid knowing that now. The facts have long since been there staring us in the face. If we don't see them, then we are as complicit as he.

In 1989, Koch was defeated in the Democratic primary by David Dinkins, the Manhattan borough president, who went on to become New York's first black mayor. (Dinkins served only one term, and was defeated by a Koch-endorsed Rudy Guiliani in 1993.) His longtime slogan — "How'm I doing?" — was retired, and Koch settled into a post-office life of party-crossing endorsements and TV cameos. In the late 1990s he spent a few years as a judge on the People's Court.

He seemed to mellow somewhat, even if he still endorsed George W. Bush in 2004, and threatened to withdraw support of Barack Obama in 2012. He responded to all of his email, which he printed out and annotated by hand. And he reviewed movies, for an online TV show, wearing a permanent smile — the kind the Village Voice described in 1965 as "the smile of a man disengaged from the universe":

"Do you concede?" the interviewer persisted.

"Frankly, yes," DeSapio answered.

Tumult filled the clubhouse. Exhausted campaign workers embraced; others shouted and shouted. People swirled around Koch. He had the smile of a man disengaged from the universe.

It was the night the nice guy finished first.

[image via AP]