TELL ME, YOUNG MAN. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAD TO DIE SO YOU COULD GO TO COLLEGE?

Stories like this one warm my cold, wicked heart. They really do. The son of that guy who died after being impaled in that woman’s windshield and then left in her garage has been given a $10,000 scholarship by a group of death row inmates. Aw, they’re so sweet!

I’m glad John Allen Muhammad rehired his lawyers and gave up his bid to defend himself. For an unqualified person to take on such a monumental task when there’s so much at stake is incredibly foolhardy. It turns something extremely serious, which is better left to professionals, into a circus and a joke. We’d never allow something like that to happen in California.

What’s the one thing cooler than DVD compilations of music videos of three of the best, most creative, most whacked-out directors in the world? Telling your boyfriend about them and having him tell you he just got an invite to the release party. Yipee!

I lost in my gay tennis league playoffs last night. Sad me. What really sucks is that I lost to a guy who — and I say this objectively — is the worst player I’ve ever seen (3-6) and another guy who’s a totally cocky jackass (1-6) and who kept foot faulting. The only guy I beat was a twitchy 56-year-old with Tourette’s syndrome (6-3). At least that’s what I’m guessing his affliction is, given his twitchiness and his tendency to blurt out things that made no sense. He claimed he was cursing in Dutch, which must mean that “fuck” is the same in Dutch as in English. He claims to be a psychotherapist. Then again, maybe he means that as two words.

The fun part was having Drew come and say obnoxious things to me privately all night, like promising “I’m gonna tell that asshole he’s a foot faulter” and saying of the guy my tennis friend Rob has a crush on, “Luis is ugly”. (Luis was about five feet away from us at the time, though thankfully his bad ear was facing us. But you didn’t know he had a bad ear, did you, Drew?) Drew said that no matter what happened, I was a winner, which was incredibly sweet, though between that and Tourette’s guy, I sometimes felt like I was at the Special Olympics. Eh, I’ll get ’em next season!

Well, I guess it’s finally time for me to give up hoping for What’s Happening Right This Very Moment!!! or some other new incarnation of my favorite TV show ever (yes, my favorite favorite favorite I-don’t-care-what-you-say favorite). TV’s heaviest cast ever (excluding “Babes”) is a little thinner, and I’m a lot sadder. No Mama, no Shirley, no Rerun, no rent. R.I.P. Fred Berry. Better put down that cheeseburger, Danielle Spencer. Looks like Death and I have the same favorite sitcom, and you could be next.