The job description is simple enough:

The Hair Angels, A Head Lice Removal Service is looking for independent contractors, based in the East Bay area, to travel to people's homes and remove head lice and eggs from those who are infected.

Would-be applicants must have their own car and insurance, have a fluent command of English, "own a cell phone and be able to text," and live in California's East Bay. "Squeamish people need not apply. A good sense of humor and experience with head lice is a plus," which, fair enough.

After undergoing a background and references check ("please do not send a generic resume, they will not be considered"), you may qualify for "very inconsistent work, averaging from 5-15 hours a week." The "further you are willing to drive, the more you will work," but at least you get to set your own hours (you must be available "at least a block of time every day," but there will be no work in the evening and on weekends).

Compensation is listed at $15 an hour ("plus travel, plus product sales commission"). Minimum wage in the state of California is $8.00; minimum wage in the nearby city of San Francisco is $10.55. Should you find yourself working the busy season, you might hope to clear $225 in a week. And then there's always that sales commission.

A job is a job, of course, especially in these dark days; I once spent an hour in an informational interview with a man who told me to put my height, weight, current health status and father's occupation on my resume in order to increase my chances of getting hired because I was frantic for work and I thought the conversation might lead to a job (it did not). I spent thirty dollars on a round-trip train ticket and spent about four hours traveling to see him, but I did get a free Diet Coke out of the encounter.

He didn't even drink his Diet Coke, come to think of it. He had a woman bring him one and pour it into a glass over ice and leave it there, just because he could. That's how you know you've made it, I suppose.

And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for I am Beyoncé and this is my Super Bowl halftime show."

Looking to combine the passive pleasure of watching Football Presents: Beyoncé with the thrilling rush of gambling addiction?

Print out these Beyoncé-themed bingo cards and become part of the action.

Every space on the Beyngo cards represents a Beyoncé concert trope ("throwin' up the roc"), a Beyoncé/Destiny's song ("Crazy in Love"), or a rumored "surprise" guest ("Michelle Williams").

Cover each space with a small marker (e.g. potato chip; coin; opal) as the noun/verb it refers to appears on screen during the halftime show. For subjective items, such as "Killing it," submit to a group vote ("I THINK WE CAN ALL AGREE THAT SHE IS KILLING IT.")

Here are the acceptable winning patterns for Beyngo:

• vertical line
• horizontal line
• diagonal line
• inside picture frame
• postage stamp
• Illuminati pyramid

The first person to achieve "Beyngo!" wins the empty satisfaction of having "won" a meaningless game of chance that requires no skill or intelligence. Also they are "Diva for the Day" and someone has to bring them a drink or snack.

Click on the images to enlarge.

Have fun.

[All bingo cards made at orsic.com]

Buried deep within a fascinating New York Times Magazine profile of the French spy novelist Girard De Villiers comes the fascinating tidbit that many at the CIA think Iran - and not Muammar Qaddafi, as the official story goes - was behind the 1988 Lockerbie bombing, which killed 270 people.

I asked de Villiers about his next novel, and his eyes lighted up. "It goes back to an old story," he said. "Lockerbie." The book is based on the premise that it was Iran - not Libya - that carried out the notorious 1988 airliner bombing. The Iranians went to great lengths to persuade Muammar el-Qaddafi to take the fall for the attack, which was carried out in revenge for the downing of an Iranian passenger plane by American missiles six months earlier, de Villiers said. This has long been an unverified conspiracy theory, but when I returned to the United States, I learned that de Villiers was onto something. I spoke to a former C.I.A. operative who told me that "the best intelligence" on the Lockerbie bombing points to an Iranian role. It is a subject of intense controversy at the C.I.A. and the F.B.I., he said, in part because the evidence against Iran is classified and cannot be used in court, but many at the agency believe Iran directed the bombing.

While the idea that Iran was behind the bombing has long been a favorite of conspiracy theorists, this is the first mainstream indication in a long time that actual intelligence supports the theory. Robert Worth, who wrote the piece, is a recognized expert on Middle-Eastern affairs, who has contacts deep in the intelligence community.

Unless, of course, this is just intelligence bullshit meant to turn us on Iran. And down the rabbit hole we go....

Simcha Jacobovici, the Canadian documentary director who claimed in 2011 to have found two of the nails used to crucify Jesus, is suing archaeologist Joe Zias for libel. There are few things more enjoyable than fights between academics, particularly when one of the academics is being accused of pandering and sensationalism. The blog posts fly thick and fast, the Change.org petitions sing with wounded intellectual pride ("we the undersigned simply and collegially request that Mr. Jacobovici abandon his lawsuit"), and everyone gets a chance to play.

Here's a quick breakdown for those of you who may not be familiar with the players or just exactly what's at stake.

The Players' Qualifications

Simcha Jacobovici: Producer of TV documentaries like Sex Slaves, Selling Christianity, The Lost Tomb of Jesus, and Yummy Mummy; adjunct professor at Huntington University; coauthor of The Jesus Discovery: The Resurrection Tomb that Reveals the Birth of Christianity
Joe Zias: Holds degrees from Wayne State University, Hadassah Medical School, and the Smithsonian Institution in physical anthropology and Paleopathology; special achievement award from the Association of Paleopathologists "in recognition of scientific contribution to the study of ancient disease"; served as a combat medic with the Israel Defense Forces; now retired and giving bike tours in and around Jerusalem

Most Outrageous Behavior

Simcha Jacobovici: Claimed to have found Atlantis in an interview with Hadassah Magazine
Joe Zias: "Routinely writes Jacobovici's first name with a dollar sign in place of the S"

Legal Claims

Simcha Jacobovici: That Joe Zias' public criticism of his archaeological discoveries (including claims that he has discovered the final resting place of Jesus and his family) amounts to libel, causing him to lose money
Joe Zias: That Simcha Jacobovici's documentary about the so-called James Ossuary is a fraud "hyped upon the unsuspecting public"

Best Academic Zinger

Simcha Jacobovici: "[Zias] disagrees with everything I do and, frankly, he has a right to. He is not a trained archaeologist, nor is he a trained forensic anthropologist as he claims to be. But in a democratic society he's free to express whatever opinion he wants...He accused me of "forging" archaeology, "planting" archaeology, and "inventing" Holocaust stories. As a child of Holocaust survivors, as an award-willing journalist and as a human being, I decided I had enough. Freedom of speech ends where libel begins."
Joe Zias: "The [Talpiot Tomb] film is not a documentary in the strict sense of the word as many scenes and sets are totally reconstructed even though Cameron et al try to present it as such...[T]his is basically a re-hash of the 1996 story by Ray Bruce, a British film maker, somewhat re-written, to present the views of the author of The Jesus Dynasty who figures prominently in the film. The first version was better. This author, though well known for his support of the BAR position on the James Ossuary, is not an archaeologist in any sense of the word, which may account for many of the short comings in the film. Textual scholars posing as biblical archaeologists, several which appear in the film and on the Discovery panel discussion are one of the biggest problems within the profession which has, according one noted scholar, has set back trust and creditability in the profession, decades."

Supporters

Simcha Jacobovici: Charles Pellegrino (author of The Ghosts of Atlantis, James Cameron
Joe Zias: Anthropologist Carl Feagans, Dr. Jim West (see his post about Simcha's support for the authenticity of the "Jesus Papyrus" for an excellent Alexa ranking burn)

The Discovery Channel aired Jacobovici's James, Brother of Jesus but a few years later included "the James ossuary "on its list of the top 10 scientific hoaxes of all time."

Jim West writes in his analysis of Burleigh's article that "my hope remains that Zias and Jacobovici will settle this (preferably by the suit being dropped and the two of them having a nice Diet Coke- on me if they wish it)."

[Image via AP]

Across the country, police officers have very little incentive to tell the truth. Is that such a crazy thing to say?

No, it is not so crazy, says lawyer and Ohio State professor Michelle Alexander. In a convincing essay, she lays out how, even under oath, police officers in the United States face very little penalty for lying to a courtroom with a defendant's life in the balance. If their word is not enough to convict, if their testimony is so unbelievable that the case is dismissed, then " the officer is free to continue business as usual."

But is there more to this culture of lying than just the thrill of ruining someone's life?

Police departments have been rewarded in recent years for the sheer numbers of stops, searches and arrests. In the war on drugs, federal grant programs like the Edward Byrne Memorial Justice Assistance Grant Program have encouraged state and local law enforcement agencies to boost drug arrests in order to compete for millions of dollars in funding. Agencies receive cash rewards for arresting high numbers of people for drug offenses, no matter how minor the offenses or how weak the evidence.

Ah, right. The numbers game. That's illegal though, yeah?

For the record, the New York City police commissioner, Raymond W. Kelly, denies that his department has arrest quotas. Such denials are mandatory, given that quotas are illegal under state law. But as the Urban Justice Center's Police Reform Organizing Project has documented, numerous officers have contradicted Mr. Kelly. In 2010, a New York City police officer named Adil Polanco told a local ABC News reporter that "our primary job is not to help anybody, our primary job is not to assist anybody, our primary job is to get those numbers and come back with them."

So once we get rid of those quotas, unofficial or not, then police will stop lying? It's not like it's human nature, right?

Research shows that ordinary human beings lie a lot - multiple times a day - even when there's no clear benefit to lying. Generally, humans lie about relatively minor things like "I lost your phone number; that's why I didn't call" or "No, really, you don't look fat." But humans can also be persuaded to lie about far more important matters, especially if the lie will enhance or protect their reputation or standing in a group.

Well, fine! I guess we'll have to stop encouraging police officers to lie to make themselves look better, which means not elevating and privileging them to a point where they exist above the law.

And that sounds pretty crazy!

From one of our readers, a sign from a man named Joe. Joe is on a mission.

KELLY A

I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIND YOU SINCE THE DAY WE RAN INTO EACH OTHER AT THE KEW GARDENS TRAIN STATION. I TRIED YOUR APARTMENT ON GRENFELL STREET BUT IT APPEARS VACANT. THIS IS MY LAST SHOT AT FINDING YOU. PLEASE CALL ME AT: [redacted]

-Joe

The sign raises a number of questions, such as:

Is it "Kelly A." or "Kellya"? There's no period after the A, of course, but there is an extra space after the Y. Which seems more likely? That the principles in this story are Joe and Kellya, or that Joe is papering lampposts with signs in order to find a woman whose last name he's not sure of?

Do you really think that this is his "last shot"? He's already visited her house and written (at least) one flyer by hand. Is he really going to just give up if she doesn't see these and call him?

Why is the entire note in capital letters except for "Joe"? Do you imagine him yelling the entire note, and then quietly whispering his name for emphasis? Does that make the note creepier or less creepy to you?

What happened at the Kew Gardens train station? Is Kelly(a) in trouble? Is Joe trying to help, or is he the reason she vacated her apartment on Grenfell?

Well, that was one way to quiet the lip-synching haters/give credence to rumors of Illuminati: Minutes after Beyoncé's inspired performance and just moments after a record-setting kickoff return from the Baltimore Ravens' Jacoby Jones, power went out in over half of the Superdome. CBS's James Brown said the outage was caused by a power surge. Another CBS reporter who spoke with NFL officials said the blackout was caused after an outside power source was lost. NFL and stadium officials reset the lights and, after a 35-minute delay, power was restored. So far, no official reason has been given but, for now, certain groups are denying responsibility:

It wasn't us.

— TheIlluminati (@TheIlluminati) February 4, 2013

But of course, they would say that. And just before the blackout, Twitter went down. Let no one ever question Beyonce's power again.

UPDATE: CBS released a statement about the power outage:

"Immediately after the power failure in the Superdome, we lost numerous cameras and some audio powered by sources in the Superdome. We utilized CBS's back-up power and at no time did we leave the air. During the interruption, CBS Sports' Steve Tasker, Solomon Wilcots and our studio team reported on the situation as a breaking news story, providing updates and reports while full power was being restored to the dome including our sets and broadcast booth. All commercial commitments during the broadcast are being honored." 

Entergy New Orleans, which provides power for the stadium, denied responsibility.

"All of our distribution and transmission feeds going into the Superdome were operating as expected," [Spokesman Philip] Allison said.

According to Allison, the outage started with a failure in equipment run by Superdome staff.

Superdome spokesman Eric Eagan released a statement, apologizing for the incident.

[Image via AP]

From the second she appeared silhouetted in black against a field of smoke and ghosts to the moment she cut power to the New Orleans Superdome just to prove to Michelle that she could, it was clear that Beyoncé viewed the Super Bowl as a Beyoncé concert where a few fans had gathered in the parking lot to play a quick game of touch football.

In this video, you will find:

• A fire sculpture of Beyoncé's face facing Beyoncé's face
• Booties (pert)
• Booties (popped)
• A guitar made of sparklers
• Knee socks
• Beyoncé dancing against video images of Beyoncé
• The disembodied voice of Sean Paul
• Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams bouncing up onto the stage from a subterranean holding cell
• Like this:

• And this:

• And then this:

• Scat
• A promotional song for a movie that came out thirteen years ago
• All the moves we practiced
• The ground turning into a ring of hellfire
• The fear in Michelle's eyes
• HaAaAaaaAAaAlo
• Beyoncé collapsing backwards as though dead
• (But she will never die)

Later, this:

[Video via NFL]

Good question! The Super Bowl was on at:

• VI:XXIII.
• Mama hands together like 6:30.
• 18:30
• A ship's bell's .. .. .
• 6:30 EST.
• 
  
  

Previously:

What Time Is the Super Bowl?

See Also:

What Time Isn't the Super Bowl?

Related:

The "What Time Is The Super Bowl" SEO-Whoring Is Especially Sad This Year

As you may have heard, the Baltimore Ravens survived tonight's Beyonce-caused power outage and won Super Bowl XLVII. In addition to the half-hour blackout, there were crucial missed calls, inspiring viral marketing campaigns worthy of thorough investigation, and excellent sideline tantrums. But how did Joe Flacco, the game's MVP and the world's dullest person, react, live on CBS?

"Fucking awesome."

Well said, if slightly out of character.

Shaq is many things. He's a legendary basketball player with a growing business empire and a one-time great film career. He was also a rapper. But did you know he's a Beyoncé fan? Neither did we until Super Bowl Sunday, when he let the whole world know.

I can feel your halo beyonce was fabuloustout.com/m/v8p88x?ref=t…

— SHAQ (@SHAQ) February 4, 2013

Not bad! His timing is a little off, sure, but whose wouldn't be while watching such a spectacle.

A homeless, hatchet-wielding hitchhiker named Kai is being hailed as a hero after saving a woman from the clutches of a bear-hugging racist who claimed to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ.

The story goes like this: After ramming his car into a black Pacific Gas and Electric (PG&E) worker in West Fresno and pinning him to his utility truck, an unidentified man attempted to make things much worse by exiting his vehicle and physically pulling on the injured worker.

Tanya Baker, an eyewitness, saw the man walk back to his car and tried to stop him, only to have him turn around and try to smother her with a bear hug.

"He just kept saying he's Jesus Christ and he's going to save all of us," she told the local Fox affiliate, KMPH, "but we have to get - he used the n-word, meaning the black people — he said we need to get them off the earth."

Enter Kai, who was hitching a ride with Racist Jesus at the time of the accident.

"Like a guy that big can snap a woman's neck like a pencil stick," he recalled thinking at the time. "So I fucking ran up behind him with a hatchet - smash, smash, suh-mash!"

Kai's hatchet blows managed to beat the driver back, ultimately saving Baker — and others — from an unknown fate.

The PG&E worker was rushed to the hospital with two broken legs; the driver was also removed from the scene with non-life-threatening injuries. He is currently in police custody.

Meanwhile, Kai has become something of a guru to many after participating in an eminently quotable interview following the drama.

Make sure to check it out below, if only for his inspirational soliloquy on how everyone is "worthwhile," regardless of "looks, skills, or age, your size or anything."

UPDATE: The suspect has been identified as 54-year-old Jett Simmons McBride. He was arrested and booked into jail on suspicion of attempted murder. The PG&E worker, meanwhile, was still in hospital, but was reportedly "in good spirits."

[H/T: Mediaite, Viral Viral Videos]

Back in 2006, pre-(500) Days of Summer, Joseph Gordon-Levitt was a B-list celebrity at best.

Sure, he was a familiar face and had just made A-list-quality turns in Gregg Araki's Mysterious Skin and Rian Johnson's Brick, but to the paparazzi he was just "that kid from 3rd Rock from the Sun."

So it came as something of a surprise to him when a couple of paps started snapping shots of him while he was walking down a NYC street with a friend.

"I tried to be nice and politely ask them not to," he recalls in the introduction to his 2006 short film Pictures of Assholes. "They were neither nice nor polite. And that's when I remembered I had my camera in my bag. So that's where the movie starts."

He continues:

The only other thing I'll say is (and I had trouble deciding whether or not to be so blunt with my opinion, but here goes) I do believe that the myth of "Celebrity" is not just innocently shallow entertainment, but a powerful and fundamental part of a larger movement revolving around greed, apathy and hierarchy that is currently dragging us down, down, down, lower and scarier, and perhaps weaker than we've ever, ever been. Smile!

[H/T: PetaPixel via Laughing Squid]

No, Ray Lewis did not kill the lights. Bane, the human Goatse, wasn't to blame. And it wasn't the Frogman's dedicated beard dryer, nyuck nyuck. Rather, the explanation that's been offered as to why the Superdome mysteriously went dark last night, holding America hostage to stretching football players, confused anchors, and an Oreo hashtag, was something far more mundanely vague—an "abnormality" in the electrical system.

The AP reports:

A joint statement from Entergy New Orleans, which provides power to the stadium, and Superdome operator SMG shed some light on the chain of events, although they weren't sure about the source of the problem. It apparently started at the spot where Entergy feeds power into the stadium's lines.

"A piece of equipment that is designed to monitor electrical load sensed an abnormality in the system," the statement said. "Once the issue was detected, the sensing equipment operated as designed and opened a breaker, causing power to be partially cut to the Superdome in order to isolate the issue. ... Entergy and SMG will continue to investigate the root cause of the abnormality."

In other words, Beyoncé's power-sucking, life-affirming performance may really be responsible. At least that's what Shawn Carter would like you to believe.

Update: Boomer Esiason says he heard that "Beyonce blew the electric in the Superdome twice" during rehearsals.

Update 2: Adrian Chen investigates how hackers could have blacked out the Superdome last night (even though they probably didn't).

[AP via HuffPo, photo by AP]

While we were all busy looking towards more obvious places like Los Angeles and the Albany district courthouse for signs of the inevitable Robot Uprising, the harbinger of humanity's impending demise at the hands of machines was quietly signaling its arrival by the side of a nondescript road in Tacoma, Washington.

That's where Little Caesars recently unveiled its new sign shaker — a humanoid robot capable of shaking a promotional sign at quadruple the apathy of the average teenager forced to work after school to support his dank nug habit.

Lamenting the literal "sign of the times" more than most is Michael Perez, former Little Caesars national shakeboarding champion (no joke).

Check out his moves below, and despair.

[H/T: Reddit]

When Michael Jackson died, people clamored to determine the rightful heir to the King of Pop. None of the contemporary young male singers batted around – Usher, Ne-Yo, certainly not Chris Brown (despite his mother's grandiose claims) — satisfactorily fit the bill. Talent abounds, but none of these guys quite has MJ's levels of musical virtuosity, fascinating eccentricity and the ability to package them in appropriately surreal performance. Granted, the search seemed doomed, as the entire angle of Michael Jackson's celebrity was that there was only one of him. But now it is clear that by turning to men (and men-children), we were looking in the wrong place: the heir to Michael Jackson's throne is none other than King B.

Where soul-rooted pop star divas are concerned, Beyoncé is the greatest performer of her time. During last night's Super Bowl halftime show, his status was on display and confirmed to those who didn't know, those who haven't been paying attention to the thrilling last decade of her careerl. Like Michael Jackson, Beyoncé seems to exist in a bullet time that the moral eye can't fully absorb – she strobes energy, each staccato movement the seeming product of thousands of finely tuned micro-movements. Maybe most impressively, her voice maintains a studio quality despite her choreography's athletic strain on her body and the abandon with which she approaches it. (Shut up shut up she was singing shut up.) For 13 minutes last night, she owned the Superdome's and world's stage like she always does, reveling in her cocktail aesthetic of effort and comfort. Who runs the world? Beyoncé, in momentary flashes.

When Beyoncé faced the press last week for the first time since her Inaugural scandal, she explained her use of a backing track in a way that was predictable to anyone who understands Beyoncé: "Well, I am a perfectionist." Indeed, and in running through eight of her hits in thirteen minutes last night, there were no perceptible flaws. Coming off the biggest public controversy of her career thus far, stakes were high for Beyoncé. With a little bit more grit in her voice than usual – perhaps a sign of determination, perhaps one of anger, certainly one to suggest her singing was entirely live, lest you get it twisted – Beyoncé prevailed as Beyoncé does. Anything else would have been out of character.

Beyoncé's devotion to the pageantry of pop performance means she is calculated enough to make Madonna seem like an improviser. And yet, part of her intricate craft is telegraphing a rawness, an unpredictability, a wild-eyed attack like she's about to rip the arms off of her own songs. Even more than her great beauty, this mixture of sensibilities is why you can't take your eyes off of her when she is on the screen. At all.

Her show, directed by concert/events vet Hamish Hamilton, who was also responsible for Madonna's spectacle at last year's Super Bowl, zig-zagged across the stage and spanned her career, at times mesmerizing with video screens that projected a kaleidoscope of Beyoncés, and then an army of them. Her setlist was unpredictable to a fault at times ("Baby Boy" over "Countdown"?), but during others, it nicely broke from the typical methods of the music industry. She didn't perform the excellent new Destiny's Child single "Nuclear" with her reunited groupmates Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams, even though it seemed selling iTunes downloads was a big part of the point of them getting back together. (That track is nowhere to be found in the iTunes Top 200 – every other song performed last night is at the time of this posting.)

Instead, they opted for snippets of past hits "Bootylicious" and "Independent Women, Pt. 1." Bey then had them back her up for part of her solo smash "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)." Rowland's and Williams' mics were audibly turned down below Beyoncé's. They couldn't touch Beyoncé's motor precision (Williams in particular struggled with the dance moves) and when they left mid-song, Beyoncé really went to town, getting bodied with a renewed lightness now that she was no longer burdened with having to carry the weight of mere mortals.

The Superdome's field displayed identical illuminated portrait images of Beyoncé staring at herself. This performance was Beyoncé's tribute to Beyoncé, a reminder of her great talent. Because of things like social media and hip-hop's cultural influence, bragging and self-congratulation are more socially acceptable than ever — leave it to a person whose image is based on being superhuman to deliver a new, refined spin on arrogance. Beyoncé's performance at the Super Bowl wasn't an apology for the Inauguration, but a correction. It's ironic that standing still and singing would seem to pose more of a challenge than do so while unleashing a stream of precise body flailing, but then it also makes sense. We're not talking about a normal human being, and Beyoncé's energy will not be contained.

[Image via Getty]

An adult film actress best known for her roles in such acclaimed spanksploitation talkies as Big Booty Bomb #2 and Lesbian Pussy Power #4 is preparing her body to boldly go where no porn star has gone before: Space.

If all goes according to plan, Coco Brown, AKA Honey Love, will become the world's first "astroslut" by this time next year.

"I've always had a love of space. I'm an adventurous person and I thrive off of excitement," she said during a recent interview.

But unlike many of the other thrills in Brown's life, this one doesn't come cheap.

A seat aboard a rocket piloted by the Dutch company SpaceXC set Brown back a cool $100,000. And training in a Zero G environment has been a challenge.

But Brown is mostly just anxious to lift off.

"I'm ready to do something that many would never attempt," she said, "and I'm going to tackle it successfully and have another fantastic story to tell."

As for the possibility that she may attempt to join the 62-Mile High Club, Brown is already ruling that out.

"Trying to have sex in space is a little difficult, especially if you're going to do Zero G," she told the Huffington Post. "You just really don't that much control. People have to learn how working in no gravity functions before you do a porn there."

Still, Brown says some high-flying hijinks may still be in store: "Maybe I'll pop my boob out and take a photo of it with the Earth in the background."

[photo via MySpace via BeatBeat, video via Quirkies]

Rouslan Toumaniantz first rose to Internet fame nearly four years ago, after he allegedly tattooed 56 stars on a Belgian teen's face against her wishes.

Kimberley Vlaeminck became an overnight meme after she claimed that Toumaniantz gave her 53 more facial stars than she asked for.

Maintaining throughout the affair that Vlaminck asked for 56 stars, Toumaniantz was ultimately vindicated when the girl admitted she did in fact request the tattoo, and only made up the cover story after her dad saw the stars and got mad.

But the sensational headlines in the days leading up to Vlaeminck's confession permanently scarred Toumaniantz's business, and he was forced to flee to Russia for a fresh start.

While there, Toumaniantz began an online relationship with an 18-year-old named Lesya, and the two ended up falling in love. They arranged to meet in person, and it was apparently re-love at first sight.

Looking for a way to broadcast their mutual affection to the world, Lesya agreed to allow Toumaniantz to tattoo his name (since changed to "Ruslan") across her face, just 24 hours after the two met in person for the first time.

"It's a symbol of our eternal devotion. I'd like him to tattoo every inch of my body," she wrote on her Facebook page.

The giant face tat wasn't entirely out of place on Lesya: She had previously inked the words "all for love" on her forehead.

"I know that there are people who are terrified that Lesya has made a rash decision that she'll regret horribly," a friend of the tattoo-happy couple is quoted as saying, "but sometimes the best decisions are the ones you make in an instant with your heart rather than the ones long-debated in your mind."

There are reports that Lesya and Ruslan have gone and made their union official in a more traditional fashion by getting married.

[photo via Facebook]

When you cohabitate with a boyfriend/girlfriend/manfriend, especially in New York City or any of its lesser boroughs, the best day you share with that special someone is Sunday. This is the only day of the week where a shared living space does not feel like a hostile takeover. "This is why we do this," you'll say to yourself, gazing at your significant roommate-lover, momentarily forgetting about all the excess hair caught in the drain and that the ice cube trays are always half-frozen or empty. Because it's Sunday. "To Sundays, to our Sundays" then you clink glasses of Bloody Marys and find the right page of the Times' magazine to dry-hump on top of until it's time to watch BreakingLandMenBlood. The rest of the week is spent trying to remember how to breath without screaming. Cohabitation is the centerpiece of this week's episode, titled "It's a Shame About Ray," a nod to the Lemonheads song. [The episode was directed by Jesse Peretz, former bass player for the Lemonheads and son of former New Republic owner and wealthy man-about-Tel Aviv Martin Peretz ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.—Ed.] You may remember that last week featured a Duncan Sheik song. This means that Lena Dunham is only one Cranberries reference away from becoming a bona fide 90's bitch.

But the title is misleading because it's not all about Ray but more about the pitfalls of reckless too-soon-move-ins and its impact on relationships. The big revelation about sadsack Ray's homelessness and self-ascribed loserdom is the most fascinating plotline, but there's other space-rape drama within the gang that should not be overlooked. First we have the perilous relationship of newlyweds Jessa and Thomas-John, whose fuck-it-let's-get-married union begins to unravel. We find Thomas-John on the phone finalizing dinner plans with his parents, who've still not met his new bride. Jessa whines, chicly, about the dinner plans and meat. Thomas-John comforts her. She plops out a tit. He massages it, squeezes it, like he found the softest avocado at Whole Foods. True love, you see. The dinner with Thomas-John's uptight parents should go swimmingly.

Meanwhile, back in Greenpoint, Hannah's apartment is footloose and homo-free now that Elijah the Fink has been booted for doinking Marnie that night on the couch. Now Hannah's cooking food like a grown-ass woman for Charlie and his mouthy girlfriend, Audrey.

Knock-knock, uh oh, Marnie's at the door. Wonder how this will go?

Hello. Hi. Hello. Shuddering all around.

Marnie heads to the bathroom. Charlie looks at Audrey who looks at Hannah who looks at them and everyone shares a glance and wonders who should feel unwelcome here. They all decide it should be Marnie, let's eat.

Ding-dong, hey it's Shosh and Ray. They're late. Shoshannah stammers excuses for their tardiness but Ray cuts her off and admits that they were boning. Oh Shosh.

All of them sit around the table, Hannah's proud of her feast, then intense small talk about buttholes and buttplugs ensues. Things start to get testy between Audrey and Marnie, especially after Hannah reveals that Marnie gets squeamish when she hears the word butthole. Audrey cocks, loaded: "Butthole. Butthole. Butthole." Marnie wigs. One calls the other one crazy or insane, Audrey gnashes her teeth and rips the recess lady's breast. Marnie's pissed and humiliated so she storms off. Charlie goes after her. Audrey feels jilted, possibly guilty. Aw, did someone shove a homemade jar of mustard up your butthole to make your face wilt like that, Audrey, you little shit bag? I hate her.

Up to the roof. Charlie says nice things to Marnie and they share a moment. Charlie goes in for the kiss and then a pinch of boob. CHARLIE. Marnie pushes him away, tells him she's seeing Booth Jonathan. Charlie's mad. He huffs, puffs, pivots away then flounces back to his horrible girlfriend, who probably left him because he still acts like an inverted penis even when he tries to be a player.

Downstairs at the grown-up table, the more civilized conversation has turned towards Ray and Shoshannah. Hannah asks where Ray's living and he struggles to answer. Shoshannah chimes in to help him solve this mystery because he spends most of the time at her pla...."OH MY GOD ARE YOU LIVING WITH ME?" Ray looks around the table, tries not to breathe.

Dinner isn't going well for Jessa and Thomas-John, either. "I hate this restaurant but I don't even care because I'm so excited to meet you guys." Both parents stare at Jessa, smiling politely but insincerely. Jessa dominates the conversation with her tales of heroin addiction and her trampy world travels. Thomas-John's mother appears constipated. Thomas-John's father is agog. Thomas-John adjusts in his seat but tries to remain supportive of his wife even though it's clear she detests him and that he thinks she's retarded. Thomas-John's mother attempts to save her son from this madness and asks her new daughter-in-law if she plans to ever work or will she continue to just freeload off her dumdum son. Jessa stabs her in the solar plexus with her eyes. "Now you know why we didn't invite you to the wedding!" Thomas-John says to his parents. But it's too late for petty teenage rebellion disguised as chivalry.

Jessa and Thomas-John make it out of dinner barely alive. Back at home, in Thomas-John's Williamsburg apartment, spacious yet uncluttered even though it's full of sterile, expensive things, the rift widens. Thomas-John asks Jessa why she was so salty and weird in front of his parents. Then he accuses her of being after his money. To articulate this point he says some metaphorical shit about a haystack where he's the needle and she eats all the hay. He says more asshole things, and accuses her of being a dumb hipster. This provides his wife with crucial insight into how little her new husband thinks of her. Jessa then takes this opportunity to pluck out both of Thomas-John's testicles from his scrotum. She holds them up like tiny skulls:

"I'm embarrassed when we walk down the street because you're so fucking average."

Then Thomas-John, ball-less and desperate, calls her a whore. Jessa punches him hard in the face and he bleeds. They've both had enough of this charade so now it's time to say goodbye for good. "How much do you want?" Thomas-John barks at her. He's trying to buy back his dignity by testing hers. She asks for $30k. He was thinking more like $10k. They make a deal, and the marriage dissolves along with the dignity. But to make it official-official, Jessa must break something. She picks up a heavy glass award off a shelf near the staircase, She admires it and fondles it because it's about to meet its demise . "That's my humanitarian award," he reminds his wife, the dumb hay-eating hipster whore. He pleads for temporary civility but it won't prevent the inevitable. Then comes the clunk, then comes the shatter. Jessa smiles as she watches Thomas-John stare at all the pieces of his broken award all over the floor. You can't stop rock and roll.

Now let's see how Shoshannah and Ray are dealing with the space-rape. They're sitting on a bench, waiting for the subway. Shoshannah is flustered and waits for Ray to say something that makes sense. Ray can't even look at her, he's so ashamed. Shoshannah won't tolerate this type of behavior from him at this very moment because she needs more answers. She prods him about other stuff first, like, his ambition, his future, his lazy soul. "You're older than me, you should have your own place." Shoshannah says this but doesn't mean it because hurt hurts.

Ray interrupts her before it gets any worse.

"Just say it, okay, just say it, I'm a loser, okay, just say it." Ray has preemptively smashed his own award all over the subway platform.

Shoshannah is undaunted by the loser right beside her. The subway rumbles and squeals into their station right as she admits that she's falling in love with him out loud.

And then Ray, ten years older, ten years wiser, homeless and hemorrhaging, says this.

"It's way too early for you to say something like that."

More subway noise. Ray can't even look at her because he's so spun. Shoshannah watches and waits.

"I love you so fucking much," Ray blurts out to the universe.

Now go home, Ray. Enjoy those Sundays while they last.

Consummate terribly unfunny jokester Senator John McCain—he of the infamous gorilla rape quip—is back at it again on Twitter, this time with a crack about how Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is nothing but a monkey. Get it?

You see, the notoriously awful Ahmadinejad said today that he wants to be the first Iranian astronaut, a reference to Iran's probably fraudulent claims that it recently sent a monkey into space. McCain's response? "But you already sent a monkey into space, Ahmadinejad, you stupid monkey!"

[Image via AP]