They Shoot Butterscotch Stallions, Don't They?

Fredo resigned today, prominent Republicans continue to troll for gay sex, and a portly man with pink hair--whose stock and trade is calling fatter men names--reported that some former Yankees minor leaguer finally ran out of elixir. It's been a saturated news weekend, so I haven't really given the Owen Wilson suicide attempt the attention it so richly deserves. But here are my thoughts: Um, what the fuck? Then I remembered the above scene from The Royal Tenenbaums he co-wrote for his brother--a scene which was creepy enough already because it's scored by Elliott Smith, whose own suicide attempt was decidedly more successful.