Lil Wayne was released from the hospital tonight, three days after TMZ reported he was on his death bed.

Two weeks ago, a report by the Washington Post shamed The Daily Caller by exposing their big story about New Jersey Senator Bob Menendez and his (Daily Caller) reported fondness for underage Dominican prostitutes as a fraud. The initial Washington Post report cited one prostitute who recanted her testimony, claiming she'd been paid by a then unidentified lawyer to lie. The Daily Caller, amazingly, still stood by their story, saying the Post spoke to the wrong woman.

The NYPD officer arrested for spying on his neighbor was actually charged with spying on his step-daughter having sex.

58 percent of Americans now believe gay marriage should be legal, including 81 percent of people age 18-29.

On Saturday, a double amputee driving a motorized shopping cart reportedly shot a Wal-Mart employee in his stomach after the employee asked the legless man to put a leash on his service dog. The double amputee then attempted to flee the scene on the motorized cart, making it to the store's front door before being swarmed by police officers and arrested.

Two teenagers were arrested Monday afternoon for allegedly issuing death threats on Twitter against the victim in the Steubenville rape case. Steubenville Police Chief Bill McCafferty confirmed the arrests to WTOV Monday evening.

For centuries, it has been taken for granted that America's greatest resource, black yoga pants, would exist in shameless abundance forever.

This afternoon, the FBI announced a major development in the greatest art heist in history: after two decades, they still haven't solved the case!

If only someone died. I don't mean this as a condemnation of last night's season 2 finale because it was a wonderful episode if you like resolutions and damaged romance and crazy people the way I do. But this season has been so fraught with insidious darkness stalking the series' major characters that a death seemed inevitable. Like a cool Brooklyn death off a fire escape during a roof party, a real consequence for the foolishness of youth. But, no one, died, thankfully, and instead Shoshanna gains her independence; Jessa's off to find a better universe beyond Brooklyn; and Hannah and Marnie are rewarded for their awfulness with true love.

Bernard Baruch's famous quote-turned-cliché, "Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter," becomes quainter and more obsolete by the day. Technology has made the public-communicating elite more accessible, and as a consequence, more vulnerable to critique. Feedback lurks in every corner – your inbox, your @replies on Twitter, Facebook, comment sections. If you choose to ignore the criticism, people will inform you of it nonetheless ("Don't let ‘em get you down," they will say.) If you are sensitive enough to be sourcing your emotions for content, you are probably sensitive enough to be affected by these words, especially when they are negative. You may even end up exploring them, sorting them out or just plain responding to them in your further work, which will then be up for public dissection, which could get under your skin some more, causing you to react again, etc. Modern discourse is full of noise, thanks in no small part to these feedback loops.

A news anchor for a Fox affiliate in North Alabama unwittingly broke the news of her own marriage proposal this past Saturday when a "breaking news script" introducing the proposal was plugged into her teleprompter at the last minute.

Downton Abbey's Matthew Crawley, somewhat known for his portrayal of British actor Dan Stevens in a tedious, long-term project known as everyday life, surfaced recently looking way different than he once did, and people could not believe it. He used to look the one way and now he looks very much another. How had it happened, and why, and could it be undone?

CNN earned the ire of thousands over the weekend when it aired coverage of the Steubenville Rape trial that was shockingly sympathetic toward the rapists.

Deadspin profiles one-legged wrestler Anthony Robles, who conquered his sport and then slipped away from it.

Tuition and expenses for Columbia j-school's one-year master's program cost $84,000. Journalism: Still for rich people.

Lindsay Lohan is headed back to rehab for 90 days.

Tech makes you giddy. Tech makes you fly. Tech makes you sumo wrestle. These are just a few of the things I learned in the whiplash-inducing commercial for the BBC America show Gizmodo: The Gadget Testers, which premieres tonight. (Full disclosure: Gizmodo is owned by Gawker Media and that is 100 percent of the reason why I am reviewing a commercial.) Apparently featuring at least one person (Joel Johnson) that I hear I work within feet of but cannot be sure of because there are too many crappy TV shows to watch and Mariah Carey gifs to make for me to swivel around and survey the Gizmodo area of the Gawker office, Gizmodo: The Gadget Testers none the less seems like it's full of swell, fun-loving people whose gizmos make them say, "Yeah!" "Whoo!" and "Holy crap!" Spoiler alert: It's pretty clear that the gizmos passed their tests. It's pretty clear that the show does, too: The breathlessly frenetic 31 seconds of this ad spot just fly by. It's an exquisitely paced commercial.

Jason Molina, the musician and songwriter behind the great Magnolia Electric Co. and Songs: Ohia, passed away on Saturday at 39, Chunklet's Henry Owings reports. Molina had struggled with severe alcoholism, and had released no new recordings since 2009; in 2011 his family held a fundraiser to pay for medical bills he had accrued during treatment for his addiction. The Magnolia Electric Co. Tumblr has a moving memorial:

Bill O'Reilly wants his ex-wife to go to Hell. Literally. As we previously reported, the Fox News falafelist became separated from his former wife Maureen McPhilmy at some point in 2011, and later went on an apparently corrupt crusade to destroy the career of the Nassau County Police detective she was dating. We have now confirmed that O'Reilly and McPhilmy have been formally divorced, that she has since married the detective, and that O'Reilly is in the midst of a scorched-earth custody battle—dubbed, appropriately enough, Anonymous v. Anonymous—over the ex-couple's two children. It involves a surreptitious attempt by O'Reilly to undermine his custody arrangement by hiring, as a member of his household staff, the woman he and his ex had agreed on as a neutral arbiter of their disputes. It also involves O'Reilly's attempts to annul his marriage and have McPhilmy potentially booted from the Catholic Church.

It's not just that you don't have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn; we don't have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn. Neither blogs, nor magazines, nor newspapers, nor serious academic thinkers, nor urban planners, nor philosophers, nor international jet-setters, nor fashion mavens, nor foodies, nor social theorists have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn. Neither wide-eyed outsiders, nor wry, self-loathing insiders have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn. Neither griping native Brooklynites nor dewy recent transplants have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn. And—it should go without saying—the glossy, luxury ad-laden fashion magazine insert of the New York Times does not have anything interesting to say about Brooklyn.