Patrick Liotard Vogt is a 25-year-old wannabe internet mogul and Nestle heir. And now he owns Harvey Weinstein's big stake in a disastrous social network, because Weinstein, evil genius negotiator, called him poor. Oh, Patrick.

Microsoft CFO Chris Liddell told analysts that the "chances of us buying Yahoo on a full acquisition basis are so small that they are essentially negligible." He said that Yahoo isn't worth what is was in February and will be worth less with every passing day. "We took the view and we still take the view that Yahoo is essentially a declining asset. We made a credibly generous bid with a very high premium because we were looking for speed." Maybe Microsoft-Yahoo never worked out because "negging" — the practice of insulting a prospective lover to make them "fall from the clouds and be interested in talking to you," as UrbanDictionary explains it — doesn't work in corporate courtship, either.

"Hey, put that croissant down!"

This morning outside Penn Station, some young fellows were distributing fake anti-promotional literature "protesting" the new high speed Europe rail system. (Paris to Frankfurt in under four hours!) First of all: Ooh, fake negative ad campaign. Second: Are commuters from Lynbrook and Bayshore really the target market for RailEurope promotions? (Paging Long Island's Atoosa Rubenstein!) But really we're not sure they can afford the exchange rate. And finally: Why is Europe fucking with us and our asstacular and sad—yet pridefully, pants-pockets-tearingly American!—trains? Fine, so Luxembourg to Paris is 231 miles and their new train takes 2 hours and 5 minutes; Manhattan to East Hampton is 103 miles and it takes nearly 3 hours on the LIRR. But unlike France, at least we have our international reputation to keep us warm at night. Oh and we get to drink Coors on our trains, so there.

The phenomenon of the wingman—you know, the buddy who will distract the fat friend of the girl into whose pants you are attempting to effect entry—made its appearance in the local papers this weekend, with a piece about Art Malov, a 28-year-old dating coach who teaches sad, lonely men the secrets of conning women into your bed. There's a lot of poignance in the article; you will not be surprised to learn that one of Malov's advisees is a computer technician who is reduced to bragging about how many phone numbers he now gets. The deepest moment of pathos comes when the aforementioned computer guy points out a fellow who seems to embody the apex of skirt-chasing.