A teenager in Kentucky was shot dead by a homeowner when he broke into the guy's house while crazy out of his mind on shrooms. God that's tragic. And on top of everything, he couldn't even get a cool obit:

Sandford Dody, author of multiple best-sellers, died July 4 at 90 years old. If his name is unfamiliar, it may be because it did not appear on the covers of his books.

The Way We Live Now: Suffering in relativity. Allen Stanford has no air conditioning. Haitian boat people are drowning. Baghdad security guards are getting killed. And back in Queens, we're barely scraping by, workin' in the Yak shop.

Fantastic news, minorities: A new Taser that boasts three times as many shots! Elsewhere in law enforcement matters: "Taser-hit man bursts into flames." Creepy masochistic employee indoctrination vid below!

In a clear act of porcine aggression against our nation's geographers, the dreaded Mexican Pig Flu has struck the National Geographic Society. We have the memo.

Andy Rooney—whose work we do not usually care for—was overcome with grief while delivering the eulogy at Walter Cronkite's funeral yesterday, and had to excuse himself after less than two minutes. It's god damn heartbreaking. A generation passes.

Downtown artist Dash Snow died of a heroin overdose last week. The formation of his legacy is well underway. Was he an authentic artist with a tortured soul, or a selfish jerk who left his daughter fatherless?

The dreaded Mexican Pig Flu will be back. Oh yes. Of that, there is no question. A few months from now, you will wake up to hear daily Swine Flu Reports sandwiched between weather and traffic. Not a joke!

The way we die now: Utterly broke, so broke that our families are forced to bury us in the backyard, like a damn goldfish or something.

Dash Snow's grandmother confirms he died by heroin overdose last night. [NYT]

Police say that boxer Arturo Gatti, who was found dead last weekend, was strangled in his sleep by his 23 year-old ex-stripper wife. As if that wasn't unpleasant enough, Perez Hilton put up some other dude's picture on Gatti's "R.I.P." post.

Billy Mays is dead, but his ghost will return to haunt your television until you order roll after roll of Mighty Tape, to quiet the bearded demon. It's what he would have wanted.

A 29 year-old chocolate factory worker in New Jersey died today after falling into an eight-foot-deep vat of melted chocolate. One option for the poor man's cadaver: a mold for chocolates.

With all of this tabloid love for Michael Jackson today, which brave soul shall stand up and proudly fly the "Sicko!" banner of dissent? Hark! Andrea Peyser still exists.

Republicans are sick of Michael Jackson: it's a meme! We don't know why, but it is! Minnesota Governor Tim Pawlenty is sick of this nonstop coverage of the death of one of the world's most famous and bizarre people.

You should stop smoking, doctors say. Here, we have medications to help you stop, doctors say. But oh—these medications could make you kill yourself. What the hell is science good for?

Air France flight 447 plunged 35,000 feet into the Atlantic earlier this month, obliterating everyone aboard. Last night, a Yemenia Airways flight ditched in the Indian Ocean, killing 152. If only those planes had been equipped with air bags!

Happy Autopsy Day! Michael Jackson's revealed him to be a hairless disfigured ghoul, but was also fake. Billy Mays' found that he died of heart failure, not head trauma after a rough airplane landing.

Wait, this can't be right.

Bruno is involved in the whole Michael Jackson foofaraw, of course. There's a scene in the film where the Austrian gay toys with LaToya Jackson and tries to get her brother's phone number from her BlackBerry. Should Universal cut it?