Earlier today, the Associated Press’s politics-focused Twitter account tweeted out perhaps the most important piece of news the venerated outlet will ever break—just in time for Halloween.
Lisa Frank is the woman responsible for Trapper Keepers covered with majestic unicorns prancing over rainbows. She’s also responsible for a failed business empire plagued with scandal, greed, and abuse.
Yesterday a photograph made the rounds on the internet purporting to show Bad Brains frontman H.R. and Brooke Shields sitting together on a couch, with Shields leaning over and lighting what appeared to be a marijuana pipe. Which would be amazing. A spokesperson for Shields quickly denied that it's her. But Bad Brains' management has issued a statement to Gawker claiming that the photo indeed shows H.R. and Shields getting high together in 1983.
Gawker has obtained a large cache of confidential internal financial documents from more than 20 secretive hedge funds and other investment vehicles in which Mitt Romney has stashed his considerable wealth. All told, the partnerships and limited liability corporations detailed below accounted for, at minimum, $10,069,000 of Romney's assets in 2011 and yielded $913,300 in income, according to his 2012 financial disclosure (those figures are derived from adding up the low end of ranges Romney disclosed; the actual numbers could be astronomically higher).
A former household staffer and tutor for Rupert Mudoch and Wendi Deng's children is speaking out for the first time about the relentless nightmare that is working for the Murdochs: Screaming tantrums, nannies discarded by the side of the road on a whim, no benefits, unpaid overtime, young girls body-shamed by their mother—and near abandonment for workers injured on the job.
Amine Derkaoui, a 21-year-old Moroccan man, is pissed at Facebook. Last year he spent a few weeks training to screen illicit Facebook content through an outsourcing firm, for which he was paid a measly $1 an hour. He's still fuming over it.
We are familiar with the James O'Keefe of today, certainly, what about the O'Keefe of yesterday? Before he was a fugitive, professional ambusher and rabble-rouser, James O'Keefe led the life of a simple teen-aged student, wandering aimlessly through the halls of his high school humming "Life is a Highway."
LAS VEGAS — It only took 24 hours for the Stockholm Syndrome to set in. It was after the huge, boomerang-sized crab legs had been cleared away and the Wagyu beef had been consumed and all the after-dinner whiskeys had been drained and they'd ushered us past the hundreds of ordinary suckers and through the VIP entrance of the Caesar's Palace nightclub and set us up with a private table and bottle service so we could recline on a couch and watch all the drunk bachelorette party girls shake their asses at the bar in front of us, and the doorman smiled warmly at us and the attractive waitress smiled warmly at us and the PR people smiled warmly at us and we, the journalists, all smiled warmly at each other and took it all in, and I thought to myself, "Vegas, baby!" Vegas, baby. It likes me. And I like it.
Lauren Kornberg, the professional dogwalker who discovered a severed head in the Hollywood Hills this week—the one that a paparazzi agency is shopping photos of with a smiling mystery woman posing next to it—says she never snapped pics of the gruesome find. She does, however, have a theory about who did.
