Five people and a dog were killed around 10 a.m. today when a small plane crashed on I-287 outside of Morris Township in New Jersey. The single-engine turbo-prop plane, which was piloted by a managing director of the investment bank Greenhill & Co., and carrying his wife, two children, and a coworker, had taken off from Teterboro Airport and was headed for Atlanta when it disappeared from radar. The Newark Star-Ledger writes that it "appeared to nosedive and disintegrate"; although no one on the ground died, the debris was strewn across a half-mile area and the wreckage was horrifying:

There are those moments where your life changes in an instant and you don't see it coming: a mugging, an accident, the phone call that a family member has died. You were just having a wonderful day and then—slam—something snaps and all the gears come tumbling out of the watch in a comical and tragic disarray. That's sort of what happened to Taylor and Russell last night. The carousel finally stopped.

Like us, you've probably always assumed that schools with really good football teams are also full of stupid meatheads simply because stupid meatheads like football, and therefore go to those schools. That's not quite right; good football teams actually make students worse. Guy students. Cause guys like the football!

The axe is falling at HBO today just like it fell on Ned Stark's head on Game of Thrones (spoiler alert!) and the networked cancelled Hung, How to Make It in America, and Bored to Death. But don't worry, seven people who watched Enlightened, it's coming back for more.

Now this is strange. What compels a Speaker of the House, as he's (supposed to be) trying to reach a deal to preserve various expiring government goodies before Congress recesses for the year, to move a resolution that would "commission the placement of a bust of former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill in the Capitol"? Here he is, talking about it, softly crying, of course, but not in full Boehner Bawl mode. Winston Churchill, he was one helluva a guy. Anyway, this is all about race.

For years upon years, we here at Gawker have been bringing you stories of the sheer fuckery of incompetent superflack Ronn [sic] Torossian (pictured), head of 5WPR, the most shameless public relations firm in New York City. Here is a bit of news that we view with exceeding interest: Ronn Torossian is caught up in a federal investigation. A very serious one.

It is written in the official Communist Dictator Handbook that when a leader dies he must be laid out like a meat-and-cold-cuts tray at a regional sales conference. Today mourners paid respects to Kim Jong il's dead body.

Wondering why everyone unfriended you on Facebook? Most likely it's because you're really offensive. But it might be because you're really depressing!

Bloomberg reporter Max Abelson should receive every last Pulitzer for his story today, "Look at These Atrocious Rich Fuckers Hang Themselves With Their Own Quotes." Or if you prefer the "formal" headline, "Bankers Seek to Debunk Attack on Top 1%." Good god. I mean really. It is almost Christmas. You bastards.

This mogul's daughter paid $50,000 for her "boyfriend" to spend the night. This celebrity family is feuding over something stupid, and this married singer is cheating. Let's hope someone paid for the privileged.

Haha, where to start with this one? University of Texas Austin College Republicans President Cassie Wright, it seems, is something of a poet:

Though the fear of a violent and unprovoked home invasion resulting in who knows what horrors to your precious bodily cavities stalks your psyche daily, the fact is this: you are paranoid. Watching too much local television news, I suspect. America is so safe these days it is absolutely sickening.

Gilberto Sanchez, the Bronx native who leaked a workprint of X-Men Origins: Wolverine, was sentenced to one year in prison. That's a whole year for Sanchez to think about what he's done, get out, and probably do it again. [Deadline]

I have a cup on my desk filled with approximately two dozen pens, which at any given time yields a total of maybe one working writing instrument whenever I need it — usually a dull pencil or crayon. That's just my crappy luck. So you'll forgive me if I experience just a twinge of envy when relaying the tale of the 76-year-old woman from England who checked herself into a gastroenterologist's office complaining of diarrhea, only to learn from an CT scan that she had been carrying around a pen inside her for approximately 25 years. And it still wrote.

You know, if there's one thing America could use fewer of right now, it's human beings performing services in exchange for money. What are those called again? Oh right, jobs. Too many jobs! Let's eliminate positions! Like pudding sample dispensation technician, for example. How long have we been pressed under the thumb of those lazy, unionized, pudding-covered thugs? Too long. Luckily, Jell-O has finally done something about it. They have funneled thousands of man hours and countless millions in research dollars into the world's first Jell-O Temptations Sampling Machine, a marvel of technical innovation that squirts out a blob of pudding every time you approach it. But what if a child approaches it? What then? Might the Sampling Machine offer the child some delicious pudding? No! Of course not! That would be completely counterintuitive to the needs of Jell-O's dessert-squirting Frankenstein. From Gothamist:

[Updated below.] A reality show from the Netherlands called Proefkonijnen ("Guinea Pigs") set about tackling the ultimate taboo head-on. No, not that taboo. The other taboo: Cannibalism! The gluttonous consumption of tasty, fatty, crispy-skinned human flesh. Mmmmmm. Peeeeeople. So co-hosts Dennis Storm and Valerio Zeno submitted themselves to what is informally known on Fire Island as "the Gentleman's Agreement" — you eat my meat, I'll eat yours.

Holiday downer time! A couple in their 70s had their vacation cut short when the wife died in the car, somewhere around Pasco, Washington. The husband made the decision to turn the vehicle around and drive back home to attend to his wife's burial. But home was 225 miles north, across the Canada-U.S. border, in Oliver, B.C.

Mark Zuckerberg, who personally kills all his food, is ominously proud of his escalating slaughters. Here's the bison he recently shot and devoured, mounted at Facebook headquarters as a "prank" on a less predatory executive.

Sean Parker wants to be taken seriously. Facebook's founding president badly wants to convince people he's not an amoral party boy like Justin Timberlake in The Social Network. Which is why it's strange he basically encouraged the New York Times to paint him as a cokehead.

Theoretical question: What does a congressman who never bothered to tie his tie properly, comb his hair, or button his top shirt button even when he was trying to win elections dress like after he's announced his retirement and stopped caring entirely? It really is an interesting theoretical question.