Good news, people who like getting fried food in the mail: “If you happen to be one of those poor souls who does not live within an easy drive of a Popeye’s, Williams-Sonoma will mail you a fried turkey. Yes, they are now in the mailing fried things business.”

“Like a thin band of light stretched across space, it looks like some sort of intergalactic letterbox. But this extraordinary image is in fact is a distant galaxy called NGC 4452, captured as it lies directly edge-on to Earth.” Lest you get jealous over how svelte NGC 4452 appears to be — and note that the camera adds 10 nebulae — this is rather comforting: “Our own Milky Way is also believed to be extremely thin.” [Via]

“While the residents regarded Mr. Obama’s mother as a ‘free spirit,’ Barry, who was chubby, was referred to as the ‘boy who runs like a duck…’”
 — Comforting to learn, during his visit to Indonesia, as he rebukes the Israeli government for announcing plans to build 1,000 new housing units in Palestinian East Jerusalem, that the President of the United States used to be like one of my best friends from growing up, Matt McCabe, who everyone in our cub scout troop called “Waddles.” The Times story about Obama’s childhood years in Jakarta is full of good stuff.

by Joshua Heller

Over the past month, college campuses have started to ban or otherwise reduce availability of the increasingly popular Four Loko. The combination stimulant and depressant has led to hospitalizations amongst college-aged binge drinkers. But for mature fun-seekers, the drink isn’t just for rappers any more: it can be a cost-effective way to feel the euphoric effects of far more expensive drugs in the midst of this Great Recession.

On Friday night, after discovering that the Barcade in L.A.’s Koreatown is unrelated to the one in Williamsburg, we sat down at a diner to eat french fries and drink more beers. As I was making poor ordering decisions (stay away from the BBQ beef sandwich), my friend Cate mentioned that she enjoyed the “Premium Malt Beverage with Artificial Flavors • Guarana • Taurine • Caffeine and FD&C; Red #40.”

My girlfriend Nicole mentioned that I was also familiar with the drink. She recounted the story of her first week in grad school, wherein I solo’dly drank a Fruit Punch flavored Four Loko and accompanied her to a laid-back party. At some point in the evening the party became entirely silent. I had screamed, “I HATE YOU MOM, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME!”

If my girlfriend were any less cool, that antic may have resulted in the termination of our relationship, but luckily she thought it was funny. She also knew that my craziness was the direct result of the 23.5 fluid ounces of the heavily caffeinated 12.0% alcohol elixir.

That wasn’t the only time I’d experimented with the drink. This summer, I went to a metal show at a party store under the JMZ in Bushwick. I drank Lokos with my loco friend who’d previously invented the 32 Ounce Dunkin’ Donut’s Irish Coffee. (Combine one large Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee with a a pint of Irish Whiskey and a hint of Bailey’s.)

After that Four Loko encounter, we walked around Brooklyn sloppily drunk but surprisingly coherent. I remember going to a Mexican bar that turned into an underground strip club, and that later it took me 25 minutes to unlock the front door to the apartment. The morning after I felt like I was coming down from drugs. Because, I was coming down from drugs. (Four Lokos = drugs.) That day I patronized several toilets at two Whole Foods locations in Manhattan.

I might be crazy but I like Four Loko. Mostly because I think that knowingly ingesting something that makes you “feel like shit” is totally funny.

So, at that restaurant in L.A., the people at the table agreed that we should all drink Lokos together. “Four Loko Con” had officially been organized. It would take place the following night, and would be strictly BYOFL.

* * *

En route to the Four Loko Convention, we stopped at a liquor store that had run out of the drink, but did sell Nicole’s favorite cookies from Guatemala. We continued to the liquor store on Sunset and Silverlake, the one that a popular buzzband named themselves after. We bought the store’s three remaining Four Lokos, all “watermelon” flavored.

Armed with our flavored-brewskis, we walked the rest of the journey discussing our fears at how the beverage might affect us.

The crew from the previous night was already assembled. The host finished watching Billy Elliot while making an appropriate mixtape for FourLokoCon.

We joined the organizing committee at the dinner table and discovered that the Watermelon flavor was surprisingly tasty. Charley offered us straws. Straws don’t work. I lost four inside the container before I opted to just sip from the can.

We talked “Loko math.” If a Four Loko contains 23.5 ounces and is 12% alcohol, how many drinks is one Loko?

I supposed that one Loko was “equivalent to 1.5 beers and a Red Bull.” The experts back in Bushwick responded online with a better formula:

one Loko is Lk=[(%ABV)(oz)]/.705
the energy is factored in as ‘magic’.

So a ‘Loko’ is a reasonable unit of measure which should be used to objectively analyze an evening’s fun.

That night I would have 6 Lokos worth of fun.

* * *

More people arrived. They’d bought out the grocery store’s entire supply of Four Loko.

Everyone got a little thizz-faced. First impressions of the drink were described as “this tastes like cleaning product and Jolly Rancher.”

The convention reached quorum and my memory started to become hazy.

Someone said “Josh looks like he entered another dimension.” Later, Facebook albums would reveal this to be true.

While I was dancing, I took note of other’s reactions. Joel’s face became flush and he announced that he’d won the “Hapa redness competition.” Laysa belted out freestyles. Nicole fell onto the floor laughing. Andrea taught me about macroeconomics. Mike made fun of Nicole’s Guatemalan cookies. Girls started tackling boys. People kibbitzed about the future of news, and the role of race in the arts. Someone cried, then proceeded to breakdance. Halloween candy was thrown into the air. Everyone was singing. It probably looked like some Ken Kesey-ian Acid Test.

Nicole and I left to check out a party across the street. We didn’t know anyone there but we managed to eat a platter of crackers. Nicole wanted to take their container of hummus, but I was convinced that the guy who’d just walked in was planning to kick my ass, and I decided that we needed to leave immediately.

Back at FourLokoCon HQ, a girl started to gnaw on my beard while simultaneously attempting to bite my girlfriend’s nipple. People were being dragged home. The party started to dissipate. We found a ride. I walked into my house, and passed out on the couch.

The next morning I woke up with no hangover, and no qualms about the night before. Photos were already on Facebook by 10 a.m. Consensus was in: everybody had fun at FourLokoCon. Everyone survived.

* * *

As a professional on the subject of flavored malt liquor, I have two points of advice:

1. Use the drink responsibly. The reports of hospitalization among college students is related to their overconsumption. Just because the drink is called Four Loko does not mean you should drink four of them (that’s 16 “Lokos” of fun, bro, and that is not fun.)

2. If you’re inspired to drink these dranks, do so ASAP. The signs seem clear: we’re probably going to be facing a national moratorium on Four Loko, reminiscent of the Great Sparks Purge of 2008. Drink them — with some caution — with friends at your own Four Loko conventions while you can. Or, maybe better: just save them as collectables for your grandchildren.

Joshua Heller is living large.

“Now the man’s lap who I would bounce on forever, until my hips shattered from the 7.9 Richter scale fuckquake we would have is Imperioli. GOOD GAWD! Have you seen him go from guido to East Village gypsy with his wiley mustache, Serpico leather jacket, and slender hips? He’s like a Voltron of fuck parts. And with Christofahh I feel like he’s crazy without being socio, like Tony. Imperioli, with the chest hair and the gonzo schonz, just drives me wild. Michael and I would have great theater people sex. All performative and smelly…. ARE YOU READING THIS MICHAEL IMPERIOLI, I WILL MAKE YOU SEE STARS THROUGH MY MIDDLE PARTS!!”
 — As part of their efforts to elevate the tone on the Internet, our pals over at The Hairpin have launched their “Fuck Marry Kill” column, starring Julie Klausner and Natasha Vargas-Cooper. The inaugural edition pits Steve Buscemi, Michael Imperioli and James Gandolofini against each other. Much anguish ensues, as does some joy.

“Grizzly bears in America’s western states are becoming increasingly fat and lazy as a result of increased contact with humans, according to conservation experts.”

Just imagine, for a brief moment, that you, Chris Bosh, and me, some guy, are having a conversation. You were a perennial All-Star, albeit on a Canadian team, which is akin to being a really nice painting hanging in an attic. Forget the talent, and the millions of dollars. All that is great, but all you’ve really wanted was respect. You’ve craved it, actually. And so, even though fans continually demanded to see you at the NBA Midwinter Classic (I just made that name up) you jumped at the chance to move to Miami to play with your boys, D-Wade and Bron, and to win a ring that you’d had a snowball’s chance in hell of collecting in Canada. I don’t blame you. Given the chance, I would do the same, not that anyone’s asking me.

But…1 4.7 points per game and 5.4 rebounds per game on the season, down from last season’s 20 and 9? Those numbers wouldn’t make the Basketball City All-Star team. Sure, you were prepared to sacrifice some personal glory for the good of the team. After all, LeBron went from 27.7 to 20.7, and hasn’t complained a lick about it. Granted, he’s otherwise engaged being alien-autopsied by Clevelanders, who have created the mother of all viral beat-downs.

The fans may hate LeBron — and by “may,” we mean, “totally do” — but they’re ridiculing you. Why, some high school kid even created a “Chris Bosh Sucks” tribute page on Facebook. His reasoning: “Chris bosh is a really bad player..example… HE SUCKS AT BASKETBALL.”

Now, Chris, we all know you don’t suck. You’re blessed with rare coordination and skills and have proven yourself as an upper-tier talent. But you haven’t exactly played up your standards this season. Or even Chris “Birdman” Andersen’s standards. There have already been two games where you’ve managed to tally a single rebound. No, seriously, we read your stats on NBA.com: one rebound.

Refreshingly, it hasn’t taken long for you to come clean. Still, your choice of words leaves something to be desired, especially for Heat fans. Or men, even. You “get a little lost” and are “kind of back on [your] heels”? Really, Chris?

Perhaps you’ll wake up soon. And if not, who cares? The team is winning. It’s begun to snow in Toronto and it’s bikini weather in Miami all year long. So you’ll be watching the All-Star Game on TV while your boys yuk it up with Dwight Howard. You can’t have everything.

Anymore, that is.

Tony Gervino is a New York City-based editor and writer obsessed with honing his bio to make him sound quirky. He can also be found here.

Photo by adamtbailey, from Flickr.

How much longer can Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi survive? “Mr Berlusconi is unpopular. People are sufficiently repelled by his antics and the failure of his government to improve their lives that his rating has fallen below 30 per cent for the first time,” says Britain’s Independent, while even businessman are turning against him and considering what happens next. There are even suggestions the Berlusconi might flee the country to avoid prosecution. All in all, it seems like the Prime Minister has hit a very rough patch. However it ends, his countrymen should be happy that he has given them the gift of “bunga-bunga,” a kind of orgy inspired by Muammar Kaddafi. That’s something, right?

More Chris Christie: As speculation mounts that the man will be a future Republican standard-bearer, so too does the question on everyone’s lips concerning his ample frame. Basically, will America elect a president as portly as New Jersey’s governor? It’s a conundrum freighted with controversy, but at least one doctor was willing to weigh in twice on the local Fox affiliate. His answer: no. I’m not so sure, particularly if the election comes down to the “Which candidate would you rather have a sack of Sliders with?” query, which, given the way we’re going, it probably will.

I dunno, this made me laugh: “This article was amended on 8 November 2010. The original had ‘sceptic’ tank, and we’re sure the writer meant septic. This has been corrected.” I’m picturing the tank curling a suspicious eyebrow and being all, “I don’t buy it.” Like the Dr. House of toilets. But maybe that’s just me.