If everything develops properly, the Republican National Convention will be struck by a hurricane.

New York Post sexologistolumnist Andrea Peyser is not one to judge others. Except uppity minorities. And whores. I mean, she practically has to judge whores. Can't just have whores walking around, unjudged. Andrea Peyser's mouth is spilling over with whores.

According to the results of our poll yesterday, you, our angry readers, believe John Travolta is a worse environmental hypocrite than any other celebrity! This one was a runaway. Travolta got 48% of the vote, crushing second-place hypocrite(s) Brangelina, who only got 18%. Barbra Streisand (17%) was a close third, followed by Madonna (11%), Chris Martin (5%), and Leonardo Dicaprio, who you guys must really have a crush on, at just 2%. From the comments, it appears that Travolta's whole "owning five personal planes and having a runway in my yard" thing really pushed him over the top. A wise choice. [Previously. Results rounded to nearest percentage point.]

How come I can't get past the sneaky feeling that Common is a tool? The feel-good, conscious-style Chicago rapper makes truly fresh music, he reps causes like animal rights, and he's an Obama supporter. He's even speaking out with a message of love to defend Obama's controversial pastor Jeremiah Wright [BV Buzz]! I can get with that. So what's the problem? Oh! I know what it is. He rhymed in a fucking GAP ad. Then there was that fucking Lincoln Navigator ad. And the fucking Smirnoff ads. And now he's going to be a gunslinging tough guy in a fucking Keanu Reeves movie? Yes, I think I've put my finger on it. I never really liked his stupid outfits either, honestly. But then again, I'm a hater. Trailer for Street Kings—with Common blasting away like a tool—after the jump.

The preponderance of outstanding evidence has finally and inexorably built up to the point that no reasonable person can avoid coming to the conclusion that "Alternadad" author Neal Pollack, who enjoys both chronicling and defending his decision to chronicle his young child, is just not much of a writer at all. Despite his background as a professional writer with the Chicago Reader, McSweeney's, Vanity Fair, GQ, and other respected outlets—as well as his ability to convince publishing houses to pay him money in order to write books—it is now impossible to deny the fact that Pollack is just not cut out for this whole writing thing. The scale-tipping work is his new Men's Journal profile of Woody Harrelson, in which the sheer lack of insight, or even cleverly redeeming turns of phrase, has us vowing never to read anything by this fucker again.