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Friday morning I arose to the bracing news that the LeBron James controversy had spawned a brand new controversy even more ridiculous than the original controversy (which, if I understand it correctly, had something to do with a basketball player changing teams).

The new controversy is about—are you ready for this? I’m not sure I am—a font.

A font called Comic Sans.

It seems the owner of James’ old team, the Cleveland Cavaliers, one Dan Gilbert, had written on the team’s website a choleric screed accusing James of betrayal, cowardice, narcissism and being not nice.

That doesn’t matter. What matters is he wrote it in Comic Sans.

Twitter and Facebook went wild. Turns out there are multitudes of people who have deeply felt opinions on Comic Sans. Basically, they despise it. Helvetica they don’t mind. Garamond Italic Condensed gets them only mildly perturbed. But Comic Sans makes them insane. They want to kill Comic Sans.

A few sample screams from Twitter:

LawrenceAugust: Writing a serious attack on someone in Comic Sans is like flipping someone off with your pinky.

louiscalade: stop using COMIC SANS. its one of the UGLIEST UGLIEST FONTS EVER. an eyesore. a design disaster.

jsmooth995: nobody who posts official statements in Comic Sans MS should be running an NBA team

As you can see, there are varying degrees of Comic Sans hatred. The fontamentalists find it despicable and loathsome no matter how it is used. Just a total disgrace. Others merely find it inappropriately frivolous for messages considered very serious, such as, apparently, those involving basketball.

There is even a website called Ban Comic Sans. I’m sure I’ll get around to reading it some day in the very near future.

In the meantime, I’d just like to say that Comic Sans is fine. It’s sansational. It’s a funny font. (The creator, Microsoft designer Vincent Connare, says he based it on comic-book lettering) What could be bad about a font that’s funny? I say we need more funny fonts, not fewer, fonts that make the populace giggle instead of going all pompous and serif-conscious on us. Fonts that don’t have to bend forward to get their comic effects.

I’d also like to say I’m disappointed that when Dan Gilbert was attacked for his outrageous font choice, he didn’t just reply, “Hey, I was being cavalier.” But what can you expect from a businessman?

Yesterday, I never heard of Comic Sans. But now I’m its greatest defender. I am the Joan of Arc of Comic Sans. I’m going to make Comic Sans the standard font for all my documents, including codicils to my will and declarations of war against foreign countries.

Now if I could only figure out a way to get this damn post into Comic Sans.

Image by AFP via @daylife

Exclusive to Grossblogger

As Russia’s sexiest spy, I know a thing or two about seducing powerful men and getting them to spill their secrets, among other things.

American men are easy. You just have to have sex with them and then give them a beer and let them watch sports on TV. While they’re doing that, you go through their briefcase and photograph the papers marked “Top Secret.”

It’s lucky for you Americans that I was caught before I was able to penetrate the U.S. security and defense establishments, which I was working my way up to, having already compromised several mail carriers and a short-order cook for practice.

It was only a fluke that I got caught. A guy who swore he was a producer and promised he’d make me a star of adult films turned out to be FBI. I guess I was naïve to trust him but hey, spying is a tricky game.

(In the event I ever got busted, my handler gave me a cyanide pill to swallow—yeah, like that’s gonna happen.)

I guess I should’ve taken to heart the lessons I learned at the National Academy of Spying in Irkutsk, where the instructors always told us, “Students, trust no one, not even me. I could be a mole, for all you know. Ha-ha! Kidding.”

My lawyer, Sid Fishman, who is kind of cute for an older guy, tells me I’ll probably only get three to five because it’s a first offense and I’m hot. So I’ll be out before you know it.

Meanwhile, jail isn’t too bad. I’m keeping busy writing my memoirs. My agent has already had offers for my story from a publisher and a movie producer (this time a real one, I hope!) I was a little put out because the producer sees it as a comedy but on the upside, he thinks he can get Angelina Jolie. She’s looking for a change of pace.

Just now a corrections officer asked me to autograph her New York Post with my very sexy nude photo on page one. She was like, do I mind that my ex, Alex, sold these topless pictures? I said, no, why should I? After I get out, my ambition is to be a top model and this publicity can only help me. I think I’d be perfect for Victoria’s Secret, don’t you? I’m good at keeping secrets.

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Today we celebrate the anniversary of our nation’s independence and I believe it’s important to think about the struggle that made America the great country it is.

We fought a war to achieve that independence. Unfortunately, the war was against our mother countries, England and its staunch ally, Britain. It’s not good to fight with your mother.

Everyone knew the British Army was unbeatable.

They wore red coats, which made them the finest army in Europe because when you shot them, they couldn’t see they were bleeding so they just kept on fighting.

Even Napoleon had failed to beat them. But George Washington, in his rash and impetuous way, thought otherwise.

The Revolution was George Washington’s war and it was a war of choice. He could have sat comfortably on his plantation, occasionally going off to kill some Indians. But no. Not George. Instead he joined a bunch of trouble-making northern radicals and attacked the British, causing terrible casualties and economic chaos on both sides of–

Excuse me, I have to take this call.

Oh, hey, Bill, I’m in the middle of my July 4^th message here so—What? We don’t? I didn’t… I was just… OK, OK, calm down. I’ll retract. Yeah, OK, bye.

I’m sorry, folks, it appears I misspoke. That was my friend Bill Kristol. He tells me that what I was saying is not Republican Party policy. It seems that we back the colonial side in the American Revolution.

If I gave the impression that I was favoring the other side, that was a poor choice of words on my part and I apologize.

In closing, I want to leave you with some tips for a safe and enjoyable Fourth of July:

1. When barbecuing, do not spray lighter fluid at the guests. It’s fun but dangerous.

2. Never place your bare hand on the grill along with the hot dogs and burgers. It’s unsanitary and someone may eat it.

3. Everyone loves a good fireworks display but keep lit firecrackers and rockets away from your genitals.

4. If it rains, go inside.

5. Always vote Republican.

Thank you and good night.

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1.

James Bond tensed as the man he knew only as Grobodnik walked toward him.

Something was off. Something was not right. Suddenly, Bond knew. Grobodnik—not his real name, of course–had with him a small child, a girl about eight years old. Bond’s hand moved stealthily toward his Walther PPK automatic but before he could grasp it, Grobodnik spoke.

“Hello, Vassily. You remember my daughter, Ludmilla?”

Bond shifted uneasily on the park bench. This was not in the playbook. He would have to improvise.

“Hi, Ludmilla,” he said. The girl nodded shyly.

“I had to pick her up from school,” said Grobodnik. Her mother had a dental appointment. Now what have you got for me?”

Bond looked around to make sure no one was listening. He took a coded document from his pocket.

Grobodnik looked it over. He whistled.

“How did you get this?”

Bond shrugged.

“A lot of digging. A lot of legwork. Some Googling.”

“The location of all the Apple stores in Moscow,” said Grobodnik. Our superiors will be pleased, Vassily.”

2.

“What’ll it be?”

“An iced decaf mocha latte,” said Bond. “Shaken, not stirred.”

Bond looked around the Starbucks. His eyes gazed dully at the chess match on the wide-screen TV. Bialiakov and Klechnoi were heading for another draw. A vast sense of ennui crept over him.

He was tired of Russia. He was tired of being called Vassily. He was tired of his wife and kids and their kids, tired of working as a change clerk in a booth at the Moscow subway, tired of fitting in, behaving like everyone else.

Most of all he was tired of never traveling to exotic locales, never playing baccarat in glamorous casinos, never bedding gorgeous younger women who were later found murdered and never having exciting car chases or karate fights with assassins from SMERSH or the KGB. It was so long ago he had done these things he could barely remember them.

The barista gave him his drink and Bond sat down at a table whose previous occupant hadn’t bothered dumping his trash.

Bond had screwed up and he knew it. He should have gotten out of MI6 back in ‘91 when the budget was cut and the Soviet Union went down and and M died of cirrhosis and that sinister evil genius who was plotting to magnetize the Eiffel Tower, lift it in the air and plunge it into Mount Etna—what was his name again? Dr. Globefucker?—decided to retire from entrepreneurial megalomania and go to work for Goldman Sachs. The spy game had changed.

Everything had changed.

Bond fondled his Walther PPK. He hadn’t fired it in years. It wasn’t even loaded. This way it wasn’t as heavy to lug around all day.

How he would love to slip up behind the barista and break his neck with one lightning-quick move. But why was he torturing himself this way? What was the point? You couldn’t turn back the clock.

Bond reached for the copy of Pravda on the table and turned to the obit page. It reported that Jason Bourne had committed suicide.

A tear fell into his styrofoam cup.

Image by AFP via @daylife

WASHINGTON–The questioning of Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan by the Senate Judiciary Committee continues today and your faithful correspondent is there getting it all down.

Patrick Leahy: The chair recognizes Senator Sessions.

Jeff Sessions: Good morning, Ms. Kagan. Before beginning my questioning, I would like to commend your posture and your elocution, both of which are superlative. Now then, at yesterday’s session, I heard you say that if appointed to the Supreme Court, you would listen carefully to both sides before making up your mind on a case. Is that correct?

Elena Kagan: Yes, Senator, it is.

Sessions: Don’t you think that would set a dangerous precedent?

Kagan: No, sir. I feel it is the most responsible way to behave on the bench.

Sessions: Well, I must respectfully disagree. It sounds to me like a radical departure from current practice, one that would set the judicial branch of our great nation on a disastrous path.

Kagan: Senator, I respectfully disagree with your disagreement.

Arlen Specter: Point of order, Mr. Chairman.

Leahy: The chair recognizes Senator Specter.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, I have served in the Senate for 28 years and in that time I have seen 14 Supreme Court nominees come before this committee.

Leahy: Yes? And…?

Specter: I just wanted to get that fact on the record.

Leahy: Duly noted. The chair recognizes Senator Coburn.

Tom Coburn: Ms. Kagan, I would like to compliment you on your exemplary courage in coming before this committee and answering our questions. It is inspiring for our youth to witness a display of such pluck and determination.  I have been told that few of them are in fact watching but I choose not to believe such hogwash.

Kagan: Thank you, Senator.

Coburn: However, I must note that in your response to Senator Sessions, you spoke about how you would…um…

[an aide whispers in his ear]

…behave on the bench.

Kagan: I did, Senator. I said I would listen carefully to both sides before making up my mind. I would be fair, impartial and modestly deferential to Congress, the White House and the Boy Scouts of America.

Coburn: Well, you see, Ms. Kagan, the problem is that there is no bench. The justices of the Supreme Court have had chairs since 1815. Currently they are expensive black leather armchairs of an ergonomic design and you may lean back in them or even spin around should you so desire.

Kagan: It was just an expression, Senator.

Coburn: Perhaps it was, Ms. Kagan, but I believe it reflects your lack of experience. Had you ever sat as a federal judge, you would know that in Washington today benches are employed only at bus stops and the sidelines of sporting events such as football and basketball.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, point of personal privilege.

Leahy: Yes, Senator Specter.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, it is my sad duty to announce the death of our great and beloved and incredibly old colleague, Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia.

Leahy: Thank you, Senator, but actually we acknowledged Senator Byrd’s death yesterday.

Specter: Oh. I thought that was Admiral Byrd yesterday. The admiral was a great explorer of the polar regions and I am reminded of the time he came across a talking penguin. So the penguin says…

Leahy: Thank you, Senator. The chair recognizes Senator Kohl.

Herb Kohl: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Ms. Kagan, before I begin my merciless grilling, I want to say that you are prettier in person than in your photos.

Kagan: Thank you, Senator.

Kohl: Ms. Kagan, I suppose you are aware that if your nomination is confirmed, you would be the fourth woman and the second Jewish woman to serve on the Supreme Court.

Kagan: Yes, I am aware of that, Senator.

Kohl: Would it not be a crushing disappointment that you were not the first in either category?

Kagan: I believe I could handle it, Senator.

Kohl: I wonder, Ms. Kagan. I wonder if you could. But let me pose a hypothetical question. As all court buffs know, Justice Antonin Scalia is renowned for his scathing wit. What if, during oral arguments, he turned to you and whispered a devastatingly funny quip or sarcasm? Would you be able to maintain the dignity required of a Supreme Court justice? Or would you, in the vulgar parlance of our day, “bust a gut?”

Kagan: Senator, I have thought about that issue and I can assure you I would keep a straight face.

Kohl: I would like to believe you, Ms. Kagan, I surely would. But how can we be certain?

Kagan: There are two reasons, Senator. First, I would always keep Justice Breyer and Justice Sotomayor between me and Justice Scalia so that he would be physically unable to whisper jokes to me.

Kohl: And secondly?

Kagan: I have no sense of humor.

Kohl: All right, well, that is reassuring.

Specter: Mr. Chairman.

Leahy: Yes, Senator Specter?

Specter: I am very tired, Mr. Chairman, and I would like to take a nap.

Leahy: The chair recognizes the right of Senator Specter to put his head down on his desk for fifteen minutes.

Specter: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Just go right on with the hearing. I can sleep through anything.