This is very strange, this fall/winter 10/11 line of all-over print duotone wear with, um, face masks. The face-hoodies (I guess?) are practical in case you need to go looting. But my favorite part of the McQueen show in Milan is the DEAD EYES and listless walks on all the models. How do you explain to models how to do that? “We’re going for very recently dead.”

Whaddaya got for us today, Science? “Some mouse sperm can discriminate between its brethren and competing sperm from other males, clustering with its closest relatives to swim faster in the race to the egg. But this sort of cooperation appears to be present only in certain promiscuous species, where it affords an individual’s sperm a competitive advantage over that of other males.” I can almost guarantee you that is something you did not know when you woke up this morning.

Um, silver lining, I guess? “President Barack Obama would beat Republican Dick Cheney by a sizable margin in a hypothetical presidential match-up-but 35% of likely voters said they would choose the former Vice President over the current President (49%) and another 14% said they would pick someone else, a new Zogby Interactive poll shows.” They should also poll Obama against the character Mo’Nique plays in Precious. I bet he would destroy her.

by Abe Sauer

Exactly one year ago today, Barack Hussein Obama stood in Washington, D.C and recited the oath of office. Ten minutes later, men and women across America immediately started ordering CD-ROM copies of Learn Adobe® Photoshop® with Video Professor. What follows is another installment of The Awl’s ongoing coverage of noteworthy Barack Obama Photoshop. This edition: the worst, most inexplicable Obama political art from the last 12 months. The gallery is quite Not Safe For Work, Reasonable Political Discourse.

Mixing politicians and substances your body has fouly excreted only after having digested all useful ingredients. Is there a sharper form of politician opposition? The original image for this combination of Obama’s face and a baby’s feces is a “Dirty Messy Poopy Stinky Smelly Diaper Joke gag trick.”

The teleprompter-themed Obama photoshop was such a meme Michelle Malkin even posted her own (terribly unfunny) entries. The above is from The Right Scoop’s excellent collection.

It absolutely deserves to be on this list even though I have no idea what it means. The right wing is a cat that will bite? Tea-baggers are also pussies? Curious parties can contact the Eye Sores blog.

Get it?!

This is from a go-cart photoshop “contest” collection that must be seen to be believed. This entry had some context: “No disrespect to 9/11 victims, just Obama.”

Hot dog! This one has it all. Nazism, the Koran, a bong and Kool-Aid all brought together with the design skill of a brain-damaged orangutan (which happens to be one of the only stereotypes it missed!) Congratulations Mr. Drake, Dick Cheney was not wrong about you.

Speaking of hot dogs… I sincerely wish I could remember where I found this.

This thing is like this thing. THEY ARE THE SAME PRESIDENT!

There is some confusion as to the source of the above matched set. It would be great for the responsible party to come forward, seek professional help.

Easily the most terrifying of all, this photoshopped image is just real enough to convince my grandmother. Luckily, nobody will ever trust the source thanks, ironically, to his name.

And up top: “George Washington Weeps” is a product of David Dees, a favorite resource of patriot sites like We Surround Them In Houston Texas.

Dees is one of the few working in the field who can certainly be called an “artist.” Get a hankie to cry in and check out his massive Gallery For America.

Abe Sauer is a true Photoshop enthusiast.

There are very few people who deserve some measure of fame for appearing on reality TV. Johnny Weir, for one, clearly. And also New York fashion publicist Kelly Cutrone. So here’s a very limited (and slightly rough) transcript of Bravo’s press conference call today, in anticipation of her reality show “Kell on Earth” next month. (See also: how your tabloid sausage quotes get made!)

Q. You’ve been noted for not wearing makeup on television. Has that been a conscious choice?
A. My whole thing is I’m busy, I’m a single mom, I’m working. I’m not an actress. The truth of the matter is, you know, with the exception of my mother, most people who know me know I don’t look great in makeup. When I was younger I was into it. You know, people have strong connotations of what women on television should say and what they should wear and how they should look. And I’m just not into it. The Bravo shot of me on the couch? It looks like I had sex with Heather Locklear and five margaritas.

Q. You’ve become sort of a feminist figure on television.
I never thought of myself as a feminist because I believe in equality. I’m more of an ancient feminist than a modern feminist. I believe in the goddesses. I like that whole warrior tribal thing. I’m happy. There aren’t that many strong women on TV. Even if you look at Sex and the City…. if you look at women on television… Sarah Jessica Parker’s character is obsessed with Mr. Big and Kim Cattrall is getting banged 20 times a day.

Q. (Life and Style Weekly) I see you’re writing your first book. I love the title. (If You Have To Cry, Go Outside.)
A. That’s a rule that we have here.

Q. In what way?
A. We have a lot of young kids, girls, they’ve been set up to believe they’re God’s gift. And they can’t take a phone message! So when things are moving fast, me or Robin or Emily will swoop down on them and rip it. Not messing around. That causes them to get fired immediately or want to cry. On top of not being able to accomplish tasks, next thing you know you’re going to have to comfort them… This is a book for the village girl and the gay boy.

Q. (Futoncritic.com) I wanted to know with such a stressful job… what’s the appeal of having all that filmed?
A. The appeal? For us? To have cameras in the office? First of all it gives us the ability to distribute our message… to the homes of America. That’s appealing. It gives us an incredible platform to communicate. We’re storytellers.

Q. In the first episode, Kelly, you say you’re all hookers. I want to know if [your business partners] Robin and Emily agree.
Robin: This is Robin. I agree in some aspects. We’re here to provide for someone… and we get paid for it.

Q. (Us Weekly) Hi Kelly-
Kelly: You Twittered about me this morning!
Q. Did you see that yourself?
Kelly: Yeah, no, I have other people to do that for me. Um, what are you talking about?

Q. Did producers have a talk with you about language?
Kelly: I had a talk with myself about language. I’m trying to rethink the use of the f-bomb.
Q. Have you replaced it with any other choice words then?
Kelly: Yeah. [Laughs uproariously.] Well. I say a lot of bad words.

Q. How do you differentiate what goes on The Hills and on your show?
Kelly: Well, on The Hills, I’m on with a bunch of blonde girls. And on this one I’m on with a bunch of black-haired girls…. We’re not fluttering around here.

Q. (Denver Post) (Useful question about how the agency actually does their jobs as publicists. And:) How do you deal with crashers and seat-changers?
Kelly: I mean… You’ll see on the show I do not have a lot of patience for crashers. It happens a lot at Bryant Park… It makes me crazy when they clog up the line. Those front row seats end up costing like 3- to 500 dollars. Those are the money seats. All of a sudden I’ve got Guy Trebay standing there, who is really lovely-but he’ll just split. I don’t want to be the person standing backstage getting fired because Women’s Wear Daily or the New York Times reviewer just left because they couldn’t find a seat…. I also do my new favorite thing, the walk-away. When people are just trying to convince me and I just walk away…. Also the slide… where you just don’t say anything. And just slide away.

Q. (AllHeadlineNews) You touched on earlier some of the names you’re called… and your reputation being very scary to work for. Is that something you play up… for the cameras?
Kelly: I don’t think I do either, I just am who I am. Sometimes I am hell on wheels. I’ve been doing this a really really long time and I’m a for-profit company. I’m not a college professor. I’m thinking about opening a college! This is a joke. And I’ll start charging interns to work here.

Q. Since your company is so big into fashion, and you’re into it too, but not all about wearing it-
Kelly: Speak for yourself! I’m wearing Martin Margiella but just because you don’t know that….

Q. What’s your recurring trend in the fashion scene?
Kelly: I’m not into trends.

Q. (Popstar.com) Is there anything you’ve learned from interns?
Kelly: From our interns? I’ve learned that I don’t want to send my daughter to college.

Q. This goes back to what you said earlier about bloggers writing under a different name and shooting things off on a BlackBerry…. I’m kind of astounded by what some of these, I don’t know what you call them, new generation bloggers do… I call them “the dopey bloggers.” How do you think this is going to pan out?
Kelly: I think that, the media as we know it, the world that we knew 5 or 10 years ago, just does not exist any more. It’s like being in the middle of an apocalypse and a new dawn. It is just so huge what’s happening. I think it’s the wild wild west and it’s free game and who would have thought we’d pay five dollars for a coffee and get our news for free?… People just cut and paste-can you imagine if the Daily News could cut and paste off the New York Times? It’s like a joke. Pretty much what everyone’s saying is just the same thing over and over again. But my fear is that Twitter is the new American literature. Or I can only watch things on the Internet for 30 seconds, because that’s all the viewer’s going to watch on the Internet. It’s a very, very bizarre time.

Go here to learn about Prionailurus planiceps, the flat-headed, web-footed cats who love water. It is such a crazy world!

Good news, everybody: Defying all expectations, spring is in fact on its way! What does this mean for you? Well, you can expect warmer weather, longer days, and, if experts are to be believed, an eventual transition into summer. It’s all so exciting! This is the kind of unique information for which I would happily pay money.

The government of Knifecrime Island, desperate to curtail the epidemic of drunkenness that so defines that nation’s blade-wielding denizens, has proposed a ban on cheap alcohol promotions in pubs. The Independent breaks it down for you with a helpful FAQ, which includes this groundbreaking answer to the eternal question of why people drink in the first place.

Academics and policymakers tend to ignore the positive effects of alcohol, but, anecdotally, they are: an increased sense of relaxation and bonhomie; greater sensory appreciation of music, colour, movement and conversation; increased social and community cohesion; increased likelihood of romantic liaisons and sexual intercourse (‘Beer: helping ugly people have sex since 1862’ is a T-shirt slogan).

Now you know!

by EA Hanks

A revolution conducted by people who have only a group identity can only replace one monolith of power with another, one misery with another, perpetuating the cycle of domination and oppression. In solitude, the individual becomes most human, which is to say, most spiritual. -Curtis White, ‘The Spirit of Disobedience: An Invitation,’ Harper’s Magazine, April 2006.

Dear The Left,

It’s interesting that you couldn’t keep Kennedy’s Massachusetts Senate seat. I’m taking it for granted that you understand that I don’t mean “interesting” at all, but rather “detestable.”

This latest event brings me to new levels of apathy, in part because it confirms my suspicion that you cannot accomplish your most reasonable and expected responsibility: empowering the political party that most closely matches your platform. You couldn’t ensure that Senator Kennedy’s replacement is a liberal Democrat? Enjoy the tar pits of irrelevancy.

I don’t think this one race serves as a marker on What Americans Really Think Of Health Care Reform, or even What Americans Think Of Obama, two subjects I couldn’t care less about-not to say I don’t care passionately about health care or Obama. Or Americans.

But it seems to be this fallacy, this mirage of What Americans Really Think is all you seem to want to talk about these days. More precisely, the past ten years.

Which is to say, we’re over. Yep, sorry. We’re through.

It’s not even that I don’t agree with you, because I do, on all the big ones, at least: Teddy Kennedy’s legacy, gays, abortion, endless wars for the profit of private companies, drowning polar bears, the works. I’m not running off to declare nonsense as truth like, “Health Care Will Kill Us All!” or anything like that.

But, you know what? I don’t think you’re good for me. Or for America, for that matter.

There was a moment, after the inauguration of Barack Obama as our 44th President (the one you take credit for) when there was an in-coming wave of people singing.

As the noise got closer, those words made famous by Bananarama became clear and rang out, golden over the Mall: “Na Na Na / Na Na Na / Hey Hey Hey / Goodbye!”

Countless people were waving up at the sky, and when I craned my neck back I could see Marine One was taking the previous President away, forever. His time was done.

I started to wave and sing too, but before I could really give it my best, I burst into tears, The Left. You would have been proud.

When I looked up to try to chip off the frozen snot and salt water from my face, I noticed something: the 100 people in my immediate vicinity were also crying.

And I don’t mean quiet, private, attractive tears.

People were sobbing, really going for it. There was more choking and heaving than a seventh grade girl’s bathroom.

I caught an evanescent understanding of the meaning of catharsis.

It’s not a pleasant, tidy emotional process, wherein one gets closure by having neat conversations that make you feel okay-it’s the violent purging of the cancer that’s been pulsating wetly in your guts for eight years.

I’m 27 years old. George W. Bush was elected my last year of high school and was re-elected my last year of college. The burgeoning of my political consciousness is entirely connected to his presidency.

I marched in protest against his war, I handed out flyers against his policies, I argued against his platforms, I volunteered against his campaign, and I mocked everything about him that I could-which, you know, was quite a lot.

But I standing on the National Mall, crying in the arms of that stranger from Georgia, I realized that the anger I had for President Bush gave me was nothing in comparison with the rage I felt for The Left.

I’ll recover from my first dance with Sturm und Drang, hopefully with a skosh more wisdom and bucket loads less ego, but I’ll never get over my complete and utter disillusionment with the Left.

The Left.

DailyKos and MoveOn and CodePink and yes, that other one, too. Grand-standing Congresspeople, bandana-ed prostesters and pontificating talking heads.

So much talking! So much feeling! And yet… nothing changed!

One can’t get mad at an incontinent dog for pissing all over your nice carpet-but one can get mad at the person who doesn’t put the dog outside to begin with.

So I choose not to get mad at George W. Bush (well, maybe a little). Rather, I choose to ask my self questions like:

Where was the Left in: the build-up to Iraq? The decimation of protective legislation for the environment? The steady beating-back of womens’ rights?

Every time things got bad-and things got bad!-you seemed to lose power, rather than gain it.

When you should have had the gravitas of, I don’t know, people who have irrefutable facts on their side (no WMDs, actual physical manifestations of climate change, gay people clearly performing as exceptional parents) you had the persuasiveness of a newly converted 15-year-old vegetarian: You guys, like, meat is murder. Thanksgiving is a celebration of murder, like, on so many levels, you don’t even know.

You know what I think it is, The Left? I think you stopped focusing on actually stopping evil from happening, and started focusing on convincing people who would never agree with you that it was evil.

You stopped talking about the War, and started talking about how Fox was talking about the War. You focused so much attention on beating Fox! All of your energy was spent on seeing who could win the spin war, and suddenly we were all shouting “You’re wrong! You’re wrong! You’re wrong!” together, to the point where we were just as hysterical and terrified as the other side! Probably even more!

Seriously, The Left, Keith Olbermann’s impassioned rhetoric from the gaping wound of Ground Zero might have been a soothing balm seven years ago, but imagine what could have actually been accomplished if MSNBC had resisted standing up for The Left and simply just told the truth-without the grandiose indignation?

But this wouldn’t be a good break-up letter if I didn’t tell that it’s not you, it’s me.

And I guess that’s true, in a way. When things were good with us, they were so good, right?

Remember the time we got run over by horses on that march in New York? Or that time we drove through the night to D.C., only to turn our backs on the inaugural parade, and then turn around and come home? We were dumb kids, in love with hating.

How about that time we chanted Cat Stevens songs outside the Federal Building on National Women’s Day? I’m not lying when I say that’s the deepest anyone’s ever gone with me.

And yet here I go, changing everything between us. If I’m being honest, our relationship was all about placating my ego. All of it: the marches, the sit-ins, the phone trees, the whole shebang.

It was about glorifying my personal beliefs, and convincing myself that I was more against the war, more for gay rights, more serious about securing abortion rights, than anyone else.

If you think about it, it was pretty nifty thinking: It’ll look like I’m selflessly placing myself in harm’s way to make a point about how fucked up things are! Then everyone will know how serious I am, how serious I take things. Everyone will be super-impressed.

The only word I can think to describe it is masturbatory. My relationship with The Left was masturbatory.

Perhaps you’re wondering where all this came from. I guess I owe an explanation, at least that much.

I had a realization-the sort of realization that happens when you get a window into how indulgent and celebratory you are of your own ignorance and privilege.

I have this friend who is gay who goes to places around the country most gay people flee from-maybe because they want more of a community, maybe because they want more people to bang and/or date, or maybe because they get harassed and they’re afraid of getting the shit kicked out of them or worse.

Anyway, for work she has to go to the places in America that I (straight, white, bougie and now formerly lefty), would never go. And just by going, and doing her job, and being herself, whether the people she meets know she’s gay or not, she does more for gay rights than I could ever do with the best sit-in in the history of sit-ins, or with the most informative flyer ever, or with the most fervent letter to my Senator.

And it’s not because she’s gay and I’m not. It’s because she’s not talking about making a choice to change America, she’s just doing the right thing: being who she is and expecting everyone to respect it, and if they don’t then they can totally eat it.

And that’s why I’m taking this post-Kennedy moment to break up with you, The Left. I don’t want to talk about how I want America to change. I want the inevitable changes that mark American’s great march toward freedom for everyone to be manifested by my individual actions-by everyone’s individual actions. What’s the point in being a voice in a crowd that’s screaming so loudly that no one has any idea what everyone’s saying? (Even if it’s a crowd I agree with!)

Someone who comes to mind, The Left, is Bob Dylan. (See, I told you we’d still agree on things!)

You know what you’re like? You’re like the people who booed him when he went electric. You’re the pouting kid demanding more “protest songs,” when they’re all protest songs,

And who the hell boos Obam-I mean, Bob Dylan-anyway?

E.A. Hanks even used to work for the Huffington Post.

Jonathan Cohn’s letter to “Nervous and Frustrated” House Democrats is worth reading.