It doesn’t get much weirder than this — the Los Angeles Times is reporting that Marv Albert and 50 Cent (yes, the real announcer and real rapper) got in a fight (yes, with fists and punches and stuff) backstage while appearing on the Jimmy Kimmel Live show. WTF.

As Albert arrived, with an entourage of one, TNT public relations specialist Jeff Pomeroy, there was a sudden scuffle when a multitude of 50 Cent protectors seemed unfamiliar with Albert. There was shouting (”It’s Marv Albert,” yelled a Kimmel show guard, a pronouncement that seemed to have no effect on the 50 Cent phalanx.) There were obscenities. A fist or two flying. A “Don’t you put your hands on me” pronouncement.

And finally Albert made it to his waiting room, relatively unruffled but slightly puzzled. “Did you see that?” Albert said. “I thought they were kidding, but then I realized they weren’t.”

How the hell does someone like 50 Cent see someone like Marv Albert and get freaked out by that he might represent any sort of danger? Marv got caught dressing up in women’s unds and Fitty gets shot for fun — there is absolutely no possible explanation as to why he would think that he could be in any sort of harm’s way. Unless he just wanted to randomly slap someone with his Candy Stick. That he got from his Magic Shop.

So, yeah, a fairly weird scene to say the least. But, as my girl Lucille Bluth would say, “I don’t know who that is and I don’t care to find out.”

May 17th is a solid five or six months away (who really keeps track of “dates” and “times” and whatnot, right?) but I think that will mark Brahsome’s 3rd birthday. We’ll probably try and run back MardiBrah again and we’ll probably take crap for abandoning this place for a few months. But you know what? We don’t care. Because we’re going to buy one of these for everyone to eat. Which sounds much more disgusting when you say that word and then start at the picture.

I already posted this over at FanHouse, but it’s worth putting up anywhere I can possibly post it — and as you can note over there, running into the Sunday Night Football weather forecast on the Today show was a TOTAL ACCIDENT. I swear. Anyway, watch this, and then go cry yourself back to sleep. Or something.

I’ve never donated sperm. (Seriously, I haven’t. Stop looking at me like that.) So how do I know the valuation of each pile of baby batter? Because I visited HowMuchIsMySpermWorth.com, that’s how!

And it turns out, well, I have decent baby-making potential. Provided that you believe “decent” also equates to a “four dollar hooker” — my sperm is worth $40 per, um, load. Now, you’re probably wondering, how does this work? Well, you hit up the website and you’re asked a series of questions about your physical appearance, your family history, your genes, your personality and your history as a criminal.

Stamos and the Piler will tell you that their semen is worth less (only $25, bwahahahahahahahaha) because I told the site I have “never committed a crime,” which is true. Well, it’s true that I told the site that — obviously I’ve committed a crime or two; but I presumed that they were asking “have you ever been convicted of a crime, just like whenever I apply for jobs.

Besides, I’m of “pure race” and “not Ginger” and, um, yeah. Anyway, that’s how I scored $40 for my sperm and I won’t let anyone tell me differently. Leave the cost of your seamen in the comments.

Okay, this is one of the sillier musical feuds I’ve ever heard of, but I feel the need to pass it along because it eventually ended up with Beck making a new song called “Harry Partch.”

It’s named that because Partch is the guy who created the 43-tone scale (whatever the hell that is — I’m tone deaf!) And Beck created this because some douchebag named Matthew Friedberger of some doucheband named the Fiery Furnaces lashed out at Radiohead for writing about Partch in a song named … Harry PATCH.

Patch being, of course, the longest surviving English WWII veteran in the world, and probably someone who has no freaking clue what these strange noises leaking from his phonograph are. But yeah, so F-berger misunderstood what Radiohead was saying with their song and lashed out, saying this:

“‘Oh, please listen to our new song about Harry Patch,’” Friedberger says mockingly. “F— you! You brand yourself by brazenly and arbitrarily associating yourself with things that you know people consider cool. That is bogus. That’s a put-on. That’s a branding technique and Radiohead have their brand that they’re popular and intelligent. So they have a song about Harry Patch.

So, yeah, what you don’t want to do is insult Radiohead — does anyone not like Radiohead? Who is this assclown anyway?

All that aside, Friedberger found out he was being a dickwad and apologized. Except in apologizing, he actually didn’t apologize and decided to try and cockslap Beck. On his Myspace blog!

Like most creative musicians, Matt Friedberger is not a fan of Radiohead and their various chartbusters.

Matt has not heard the Radiohead song about Harry Patch, as opposed to his imaginary one about Harry Partch, but if he did, he is sure he wouldn’t like it. No doubt Radiohead and their fans can ignore his opinion of this matter and the band can continue with their triumphant artistic interventions.

Matt would have much preferred to insult Beck but he is too afraid of Scientologists.

So, naturally, Beck banged out a song that’s 100x times better than anything Friedberger has done. But the quality of the music is besides the point — what the hell is Friedberger thinking here? I get that it’s totally on-point to be trendy and hip and douchey by insulting “popular musicians” but it’s one thing to go after Rob Thomas or some other Harley-riding bag of D; it’s an ENTIRELY different ballgame to try and lash out at Beck and Radiohead, both of whom are awesome and will forever be awesome.

So, to sum up, Friedberger is like the Scott Tenorman of music, and someone needs to chop up his parents, cook them in chili and feed it to him. Or something.

Here’s Beck’s tune at You Ain’t No Picasso:
Beck – Harry Patch

Needless to say, we neither endorse nor condone Eric Cartman’s views on the world. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t laugh last night at this video.

Bethel College decided to run the following play in a game. It is the most insane and ridiculous goal line call I have ever seen. Also: surely there’s an easier way to run a fake. I mean the guy was even covered.

AT&T, as you may know, is in a hotly contested media and legal war with Verizon. Most of this, I believe, stems from AT&T wanting to maintain complete control of Apple’s iPhone, despite the fact that AT&T’s national coverage makes Cricket look good.

That coverage being the premise of Verizon’s Christmas-time ads, which show Verizon and AT&T coverage maps side-by-side (see photo here at Engadget). The key, of course, is that it’s a “3G Coverage Map” and not a regular one; when you see what AT&T offers, you’ll cringe. In the interest of protecting their business, AT&T sought an injuction against Verizon’s ads and lost.

Their new response? To cobble together the laziest commercial of all-time, featuring Luke Wilson and magnets in a warehouse. I would imagine the corporate advertising meeting went something like …

PR Lackey 1: “Okay, what about a quick clip of a famous celebrity comparing why AT&T is better than Verizon?”
PR Lackey 2: “But, bro, Verizon is better in nearly every way. Is that a problem?”
PRL1: “Shit, you’re right. Um, what if we just make them really vague and unimportant qualities about the service?”
PRL2: “Fucking brilliant, bro. Now who’s our A-lister?”
PRL1: “Well, we only have $1,000 to work with because it’s such short notice.”
PRL2: “Bro, Luke Wilson’s hanging around outside asking for change … why don’t we just give him 500 bucks, a Mick D’s value meal, film this shit in your apartment and spend the rest on Jagerbombs.”
PRL1: “Hells yes.”

Or perhaps something funnier (and actually, the reality of the situation probably was much funnier. But either way, it led to the most mailed-in commercial of all-time:

Because these might be my two favorite songs that Widespread could possibly play, and they happened to play them back-to-back recently in Austin. And because it’s sick even if that’s an overstatement.

Pitchfork