First things first: Happy May Day, you godless apparatchiks you! Moving on...

NATO sends some deadly chin music Moammar Qaddafi's way, with missile strikes narrowly missing the Libyan despot and his wife. Instead, the attacks have apparently killed Qaddafi's son Saif and three of Qaddafi's grandchildren. Cease fire? Um, no thanks.

This is actually a little creepy.
Thousands of Catholics have jammed Rome to watch Pope Benedict XVI push the exhumed corpse of Pope John Paul II further down the path to sainthood, and Benedict is apparently wearing JP2's old clothes. Yuck.

Growing ever more frustrated with that incessant buzzing in his ear, Syria's president dispatches more troops to gun down and shell mourners and protesters in a restive city that's become the seed of a spreading democracy movement.

"It is my fault. I will never blow my hair inside my room. I have done something wrong. I will never do it again." The confession letter of a Foxconn employee who may have assembled one of your Apple products (and also mine). It's one example of awfulness reported by a pair of agencies studying the horrid lives led by Apple's extended workforce.

Barack Obama urinated on Donald Trump and the rest of his birther ilk during the White House Correspondents' Association gala last night. Also, the president, it turns out, is an animated African lion. Hahahaha. Good one, Barry! Way to smoove with the press. Unlike this pile of utter horseshit.

So far, so good. According to people messed up by the Southern Tornado Crisis of Deuce-Aught-Eleven, the federal response this time is way better than it was during Hurricane Katrina.

The Koran-burning pastor from Florida showed up for a protest outside a mosque in Michigan. He left early after counter-protesters arrived and pelted him with shoes.

Charlie Sheen wants everyone to suck on this. Meanwhile, coincidentally, et cetera, his former employers are still hoping to find a way to keep on sucking. You realize that shitty show's made Warner Bros., like, $1 billion? Literally?

Black flight in Portland. The Oregonian looks at census data to tell an interesting story about the whitening of our city's urban core, and where our city's black population (no longer) lives. We danced around some of this back in March.

Just in time for the royal wedding aftermath, our hometown daily also tells the strange-but-true tale of a Newport woman who woke up from surgery with a genuine, unfaked, science-approved British accent.

A short story about dealing with shit on the highway.