Fox News Chief Roger Ailes Can't Stop Calling the Cops

John Cook · 04/29/11 01:24PM

Fox News chief Roger Ailes and his wife Elizabeth must get spooked a lot in their weekend home in rural Putnam Valley, N.Y., because they call 911 a lot. During one 30-day period last summer, police cars were dispatched to their address six times.

Conquering Bedbugs Now Destroying New York Tourism

Richard Lawson · 10/25/10 10:23AM

First it was our beds. Then our offices. Now, our wallets. Yes, the New York bedbug menace has begun to affect the city's tourism industry, with fearful, parasite-phobic travelers canceling trips. No, tourists, don't! That means the bedbugs have won!

Jeb Bush for President in 2012?

Ravi Somaiya · 02/02/10 06:20AM

We missed this incredibly worrying account of the (apparently) increasing Presidential aspirations of another Bush over the weekend. As we'd hate for you not to be flushed with fear, here it is now. [McClatchy]

Gollum Found Dead in Panama

Hamilton Nolan · 09/17/09 09:40AM

Pretty quiet summer monster season this year, right? Wrong, mi amigo. A distant cousin of the Montauk Monster emerged from its cave in Panama. Then terrified kids beat it to death.

Now We're All Going to Die on the Subway

John Cook · 09/16/09 02:23PM

The New York Daily News says the FBI fears a "Madrid-style" subway bombing in New York, and the man reported to be the mastermind will hold a press conference today. For better or worse, this is what we voted for.

Cloris Leachman Conjures Swinging Wig Hops Of The 1950s In Unhinged 'Dancing' Performance

Seth Abramovitch · 10/07/08 02:45PM

As far as nightmare-fueling Dancing with the Stars performances go, nothing in the sequence above even approaches Marie Osmond's legendary Baby Doll Dance of Despair—a harrowing journey into wind-up madness that to this day makes our left eyelid twitch whenever we hear the song "Start Me Up" or see the color pink. We'll extend that now to fuchsia, too, as it seems Cloris Leachman's hairpiece-malfunction-plagued rockabilly ballet has already burrowed itself into our subconscious; we hold it singularly responsible for what is sure to be a recurring Busby Berkeley-on-bad-acid fever dream, featuring our worm's-eye view of hundreds of spanky-pants-wearing octogenarians scissor-kicking around us in circle formation.