So now the fleabags who made light of the anarchy they'd sown on our fair city's streets, bridges, and underpasses are begging for leniency? All the sudden they're Sacco and Vanzetti? I don't think so.

Before that idiotic press conference, the whole thing was good for a chuckle. But any sympathy I may have had for them was squashed when I actually saw them. These two clowns were just way too eager to milk their fifteen minutes for my taste. Remember that movie, Ridicule? One of the courtiers warns Charles Berling's Marquis Grégoire Ponceludon de Malavoy never to laugh at his own jokes, or he will reap ridicule. It's good advice.

At their dreadful little press conference they took the hair thing way too far. It went on and on and on and on, and didn't get any funnier. Make the hair joke—bud-um-bump!—and move on to the next one, or get off the stage.

I felt like I was watching a painful audition tape for The Last Comic Standing, the stand-up version of American Idol—where is Simon when you need him?—or a rerun of a particularly dismal Gong Show episode. Bang the gong, already, for the love of God! Bang the gong!

Had they been clever and/or funny, at least, they might have won our hearts, but they were desperate for attention and at the same time scornful of those lavishing it on them. Not a pretty combination. Speaking of which, that could describe the two of them. Peter Berdovsky. eeiieew. Yuck. Sean, you can do better for yourself, honey.

And let's face it. They had not done anything subversive at all, but were acting like they were these indie countercultural heroes. These tools got paid—what?—like, three hundred bucks each, to do Time-Warner's bidding? Not only were they media whores, they were cheap media whores. And they acted it all through their little fifteen minutes—and they were sure as heck gonna get every last second of those fifteen minutes, weren't they? Their lawyer had to practically pry their white knuckles from the mic.

Now it's on to the shit-heap of history, boys.

And as for everybody ragging on ol' Mumbles Menino. At least he's got an excuse for being naff. And guess what, bitches? He got a cool couple million out of Time-Warner for his trouble. So who's the tool now?

Off with their heads, I say.