Our wonderful advertisers helping us afford our slutty lifestyle, and they still tell us they'd marry us. Want to help boost our self-esteem? There's info here.

Are you a tragically understood artistic genius? Hey, us too! Here's a chance to spread the misunderstanding of your art to a whole new audience. Gawker Media is looking for a Photoshop/Illustrator necromancer to serve our whims, on call, for a few hours a week. Assignments will typically include whipping up one-off graphics to order for various Gawker Media sites, with occasional, more complex tasks as they come down the pike. Payment, dispensed at an hourly rate, will be cheerfully low; however, we promise to invite you to the fourth-tier parties and to pretend to recognize your name when we (rarely) meet in person. Interested individuals should obviously possess excellent skills in Photoshop and Illustrator, have a lifestyle that allows for completing the odd assignment on short notice during the workday, and must live in New York City. If you possess these sterling qualities, send a very brief introduction to artgawker@gmail.com, plus links to samples of work online. No attachments, no resumes.

In case you didn't get the memo, the cutoff for the general comment amnesty was noon yesterday. The vault is once again closed, the dread angel once again guarding the door. All comment invites that are gonna be sent, have been sent. If you sent in a comment invite request during the eligible period, yet haven't received your invite, there are several possible explanations. In descending order of likelihood, they are: (1) The invite was redirected to your spam mailbox. (2) The amazing comment invite machine malfunctioned and did not send you anything. (3) Human error, ours or yours, resulted in no invite being sent. (4) You suck. Fortunately, the result is the same regardless of the reason — we're back to our standard comments policy, so plead your case if you want, but most of our ears are already deaf. Meanwhile, enjoy the flood of new commenters who made the cut, and chuckle at the endlessly inventive ways they employ the word "snark" in their usernames.

While we appreciate the universal praise regarding Gawker's bold new design, the tech gnomes have been working tirelessly in their fey treestump datacenters to eliminate any pesky bugs and make sure that everyone enjoys the same large-fonted experience. If you're still having problems seeing anything and everything — text, graphics, columns, links, or God forbid, headlines — please let us know at tips@gawker.com. Include your OS and version, browser and version, and if you're feeling really helpful, a screen capture of the problem. Help us help you (help us).

For one day, we're unlocking the castle gate to new commenters. Starting now until noon Tuesday, anyone who sends in a request for comment access to gawkercomments@gmail.com will duly receive a comment invite, no questions asked. You must include a valid email address, and of course you must abide by the rigorous strictures of the Gawker Comments FAQ, but otherwise it's an All Skate rink. New comment invites will be sent out en masse on Tuesday. Of course, there's a catch. Banning of comment trolls, idiots, and undesirables will become much more arbitrary and punitive, and such banning may be accompanied by public ridicule and execution. Play nice, or at least don't let the teacher see you.

Special thanks to this week's sponsors, whose blood-soaked dollars pay for our massive headline font. Interested? More info here.

So yes, a few developments here at Gawker. Let's chat.

Well. So that happened. Interestingly, it's all basically true: This is my last Gawker post; whatever direction the site takes in the future, I won't be along for the ride. So just a few quick words on my way out, if I may. My year here has been a blast — the most fun I've ever had in a job and, in the last four months, the best traffic the site has ever had. I owe lots of thanks to Lockhart Steele, for bringing me in and subsequently becoming in many ways the best boss I've ever worked for, and to Nick Denton, for signing the checks. Jessica Coen is the perfect partner in a gig like this — smart, hilarious, on top of everything that's going on, and entirely unwilling to take any shit, whether from the outside world or from me. The rest of the Gawker Media crowd — the other sites' editors, the tech guys, the interns, even the ad-sales dude — are the sharpest, most fun group of pros around, and I'll miss having excuses to get drunk with them. Most important, though, is to thank all of you, who not only read the damned thing every day and correct the typos but who also provide the scores of invaluable tips, observations, gossip, and gags I blithely stole and posted as my own. Without you, the whole house of cards comes tumbling down. Finally, before I go, I'd like to say one last thing to Anderson, Maer, Alessandra, Laurel, publicists, Nikki, Philadelphians, Kruc, and everyone else I've mocked from this perch: Denton made me do it. —JKO

Sponsored weddings and stapled stomachs for this week's sponsors, who ensure we'll never suffer the indignity of being fired by a bony alter kocker with an unchanging haircut and a weird speech impediment. Want to join our kaffeeklatsch? There's info here.

Special thanks to this week's sponsors, whose support helps us to do it big, 9-6, just like K-Fed. Interested in saving small amounts of currency while tapping our wealthy readers? More info here.

A bit of sports media folklore: in a Scottsdale bar, at some undefined time in the mid-90s, a man was hitting on a woman wearing leather pants. He was quickly cockblocked, however, when ESPN anchor Chris Berman walked by and said to the woman, "You're with me, leather." She immediately got up and followed Berman out the door. The story was sent to our ball-loving brother Deadspin and has since become a favorite Deadspin non-sequitor catchphrase. Hell, they even made a t-shirt for it, wildly popular amongst all the men who still collect baseball cards. Everyone was happy.

Third time's the charm, right? You're just so smart and clever that — yet again — our advertisers are dying to know what makes you click. And they're happy to bribe you to find out. Take a survey and get a chance to win a $500 gift certificate to Bliss Soho plus two tickets to Corinne Bailey Rae's sold-out show tonight at the Bowery Ballroom. Details are after the jump.

It's a hard job, keeping you diverted and inefficient. But the monkeys over at Gawker Media HQ are constantly working on new and technologically au courant ways to distract you. And today, after months of labor, we're proud to unveil their latest stroke of time-wasting brilliance: Gawker Clips.

Arianna Huffington pees her pants because she thinks she's standing next to Tom Waits.

Obviously, we love summer softball. We love it only slightly less when it requires that we be at Central Park at 11 AM, as we were on Saturday, to play the disturbingly nice kids from the Wall Street Journal.

The Gawker corporate overlords are in need of fresh meat, namely, a summer intern to work a few days a week from our dark hole in Soho starting immediately. On the bright side, you'll be interacting with our incredibly attractive advertising, business, and editorial teams. On the dark side, tasks range from the vaguely crappy to the really quite crappy.

Cover shots and thumbnails for this week's advertisers, whose generosity helps us fend off major media conglomerates' jolly good attorneys. Care to join our Namibian adventure? There's info here.

As these things inevitably go, it would seem that the web has gotten its intangible hands on a solid handful of copyrighted images from Brangelina and Shiloh's session at the Sears Portrait Studio. And while we will gladly look at the pictures, coo like idiots, and then link to places where they can be found, we just can't post them. We can and will stand on our fair-use high horse all we want about a thumbnail pic of the Hello! cover (which, per our original offer to Time Inc. counsel Nick Jollypants, we have now changed to the People cover), but we really can't use the same justification for the fuzzy, cloying photos floating around from Hello!. Sorry — but this time, turns out that posting the pics actually is illegal. Or so we're told. Our lawyer could just be drunk and not wanting to deal. Whatever. We're still working through the first round of legal woes from 2 days ago, and we can't even keep track of what we are and aren't allowed to do anymore.

Apparently today is the day of the beast. It's hard to get too worked up about it — in our world, every day is beastly (we are not an unhairy people, after all), and we've had many a personal apocalypse.

Thanks to this week's sponsors, who would never cut our anti-terror funding. Interested? More info here.