Some weeks this “Best of #” thing is harder to put together than others. This is not one of those weeks.

Eastbound & Down returns to the Carolinas for Season 3 on Sunday, so this is the biggest no-brainer since the last time I was offered free drugs. We got a hint at the return of full Kenny Powers glory over at Grantland last week, and let’s just say I’m excited.

Prepare to be f’d up with some truth as I defy you to find more digestible collection of Kenny-isms on the world wide web. I’m talking GIFs on the reg, quotes on the reg, and jet ski rides on the reg. If anything, I’m concerned the whole thing is too inspiring for a Monday. Not all of you were born with rocket arms, a Burmese python in your pants, and the mind of f’n scientist.

High levels of well-placed profanity to follow, in case for some reason you’re not into that sort of thing. And just to make it clear, “It was the eggrolls, not the ecstasy” is the most underrated line in modern television history.

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You might remember Vevo as the people on YouTube who force you to find another version of the music video you want to put on your blog because they always disable embedding.

It won’t surprise you to know it’s a company run by several major music labels to distribute and profit off of music videos. Nor will it surprise you to know they hate piracy. You know, when it happens to them.

When it happens to the NFL, that’s a different matter entirely!

The worst part is that Vevo is trying to cover it up by insisting it was just one random guest who futzed with their laptop, and it was, like, only on for a few minutes. Unfortunately for them, bloggers were around, and have a few uncomfortable questions about how, if that was the case, the game was on for an hour and there were efforts to make the stream clearer.

But we’re sure they have a perfectly reasonable explanation for stealing someone else’s content. Just like the movie studios.

(Image via Earl-What I Saw 2.0 on Flickr)

I spend most Saturday nights in an exposed hot tub in the back of a moving limousine, so I rarely catch SNL live, but I watched actual Nic Cage (Nicolas Coppola) in the Cage on “Weekend Update” with fake Nic Cage (Andy Samberg) on Warming Glow this morning, and it was pretty much as glorious as it possibly could of been (minus Seth Meyers’ involvement that Kurp so accurately covers here).

I’m having some trouble with not covering every single aspect of this Renaissance O’ Cage we’re currently experiencing while he promotes Ghost Rider: Permanent Melty Face. So I couldn’t have been more excited to discover that our friends at Gifolas Cage have taken on the epic showdown and given me an excuse to cover it.

Full clips and GIFs after the jump. Many props to Samberg for delivering a tremendous performance while sitting next to the Cage himself. “Pierce the hearts of women both old and middle aged alike.” That’s high praise.

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By now, we all know all too well how the music industry loves to whine incessantly about how internet leeches are bleeding it dry, and how it’s been trying to get its bought and paid for henchmen in Washington to pass awful legislation like SOPA and PIPA so it can basically be instated as the internet’s overlord. So it’s easy to hate the pricks on the basis of that alone.

But then you throw in the death montage from last night’s Grammys — a segment of the show that felt so much like SOPA/PIPA infomercial that it led one of the commenters in our open thread to note: “All these artists died because Steve Peterson of Albany, NY downloaded an MP3 WITHOUT paying” — and then it becomes even harder to feel any sympathy at all for them.

And if THAT weren’t enough, there’s this: 30 minutes after news of Whitney Houston’s death broke, Sony Music jacked up the price of Houston’s The Ultimate Collection album by 60% on iTunes and Amazon to apparently cash in on the rush of downloads sure to come following her death.

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One of the main topics of speculation concerning last night’s Grammy Awards has been why Jay-Z, Beyonce and Kanye West weren’t in attendance. The hot rumor is that the three were boycotting the show because violent, unrepentant twat Chris Brown was invited to be a performer. And while we’re not sure what Kanye West was doing last night during the broadcast — we guess looking at himself in the mirror when he wasn’t tweeting — we now know what Jay and Bey were up to: eating pizza in Brooklyn at Lucali’s, the joint whose owner was stabbed by a mobster in a fight over a woman hit last year.

Instead, Beyonce, 30, and Jay-Z (real name: Shawn Carter), 42, took a Maybach from their home in downtown Manhattan’s Tribeca neighborhood to the cute Carroll Gardens section of Brooklyn — where they tucked into pizza at their favorite posh pizzeria Lucali.

Leaving one-month-old daughter Blue Ivy at home, the music super couple “were just like a regular couple talking and whatnot,” a witness tells Us Weekly, adding that other patrons failed to notice them. “They were sitting in front of the place closer to where they make the pizza.”

Two things: I have been to Lucali’s and “posh” is not a word I’d use to describe it. Granted, it’s nicer than most pizza joints in Brooklyn, but “posh?” Come on, US Weekly! And secondly, I have eaten the pizza at Lucali’s and it’s heavenly. So good call Jay-Z and Beyonce — eating dinner there was a way cooler move than sitting through the Grammys clownshow.

Breaded Cats (AKA Cat Breading) is the newish trend that’s even hotter right now than onion belts were back in your grandpappy’s day. Truth be told, when we first saw it we thought it was a flash-in-the-pan that would quickly fade away, but the meme has been recently mentioned on both on The Colbert Report and Jimmy Kimmel Live and has even inspired a flash game. The lesson here: never underestimate the staying power of cats on the internet.

Anyay, how it works is simple, according to this helpful tutorial from Breaded Cats…

Cat Breading How To:
1) Take a piece of bread
2) Cut a hole approximately 1 inch larger than your cat’s head. This trips some people up. Remember: the bread has to fit around not just the cat’s head, but its ears, too.
3) Gently place the bread around your cat’s head.

4) Drive yourself to the hospital to get stitches and an eye patch.

Also, there’s nothing “gently” about putting a hat on a cat. You’ve just got to put on the beekeeper suit and get in there. Rolling the bread in catnip offers a brief respite from the ensuing homicidal rage. And yet, over a hundred people have now risked that feline confrontation to bring us hilarious pictures of breaded cats, and we’ve placed our favorites in a slideshow. All pictures courtesy of Breaded Cats or Ego TV unless otherwise noted, and you can view more catbreading at those links.

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Holy crap tomorrow is Valentine’s Day! We’ve already featured some great pop culture valentines like the Always Sunny cards and these Ron Swanson cards, but there are more valentines to choose from, and we’d be remiss if we didn’t bring you this slideshow of forty more valentines featuring some of our favorite characters. Because, why not? So…treat yo self!

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A few days ago I was trying to think of a good guest from within the music industry to come in and hang with us for a couple of hours on Sunday night for the Grammy Awards — someone on par with the excellent guests we’ve had come in for the Archer open thread/live blog thingies we’ve been doing. A slight problem with that is that many people in the industry actually go to the Grammys, so availability is scarce. But there was one music industry friend of mine who, when I texted him to ask if he was going to the show, responded by saying, “Naaa f*ck that dinosaur show.” It was then that I realized that he’d make for the PERFECT guest for a Grammy night open thread and that I didn’t need to look any further.

So I was able to get him to agreed to come hang with us under one condition: that he could do so anonymously, so he could speak frankly and not worry about burning a bridge or two with any of the fickle, sensitive music industry people he works with when answering a question or sharing an anecdote. So for the occasion we’re going to refer to him as, “Mr. X, anonymous music industry executive.”

A little background info on Mr. X — he’s a partner at a management firm that reps a large stable of artists, mostly rock bands, some that are quite well known. He’s been in the business for over a decade, so he’s seen up close how the rise of MP3s has changed the industry, and he’s managed to evolve in order to survive. Most importantly, I’ve always gotten a kick out of talking about music and the music industry with him. Mr. X is frank, he’s candid and he doesn’t sling bullsh*t. Which is precisely why I thought it would be fun to have him.

Additionally, we may have another special guest or two swing by — we’ll see. In the meantime, enjoy the Foo Fighters doing a Grammy-themed “Top Ten” on Letterman last night. Below the video is a list of the artists slated to perform on Sunday night. And the full list of nominees is here. We’ll see you back here then.

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Poor Oprah. In addition for being confused for Whitney Houston by dolts on Facebook, she’s apparently fallen on hard times. Nobody is watching her network, OWN, which I believe translates to “Oprah’s version of Lifetime, only worse.” How bad has it gotten for the once powerful queen of daytime TV, who was once so influential that she was able to spark fried chicken riots by merely passing gas? So bad that she was openly begging for her Twitter followers, especially those with Nielsen boxes (something she could get trouble for doing), to flip over to OWN during the Grammys last night.

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Hours prior to the Grammys broadcast last night I made mention of the potential “Who the f*ck is Bon Iver?” backlash should he win anything. Burnsy quickly noted that it would be made even better by Channing Tatum presenting said award to “Bone Eeverrrrrrr.” So yeah, after last year’s “Who the f*ck is Arcade Fire?” debacle we all saw it coming. I’m certain someone had Ned Stark ready to go weeks in advance.

There have been a few nuances to the inevitable and uninformed fallout that I did not anticipate that have spiced things up a bit though. 1) Bon Jovi comparisons/questions. 2) Justin Vernon going full Ernie McCracken + substitute teacher wardrobe for the awards. 3) “Sweet hookup.” 4) The “Who the f*ck is Bon Iver?” crowd seeming enlightened compared to the “Who the f*ck is Paul McCartney?” and “I’d let Chris Brown smack me around” crowds. 5) The rise of Bonnie Bear and Bony Bear!

I’ve done some exhaustive research and “Bonnie Bear” turns out to be Justin Vernon’s other alter ego. The one he transforms into when playing for Taylor Swift’s animatronic Country Bear Jamboree band. The more you know. Thanks to FalseIdolator for doing the heavy lifting on that one.

Since this whole thing is no surprise I’ve included only the most important “Who the f*ck is Bon Iver?” reactions here. You know, the ones that speculate about Swedish boners. Enjoy.

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We’ve mentioned before about how porn producers are engaged in legally sanctioned extortion and freak out whenever they have to argue a case in court. Well, an interesting case recently came up: one of the thousands of anonymous suckers porn producers are trying to extort is arguing that porn can’t be copyrighted at all.

The argument comes down to how the Constitution defines copyright, namely:

“To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.”

Porno wouldn’t seem, on first pass, to fit those requirements. On the flipside, later decisions did essentially put what was “obscene” into the hands of the public. Their filthy, sticky hands.

We don’t see this legal argument getting much traction, although it might be enough to scare away this particular blackmailer. But it is a great excuse to search Flickr for tasteful nudes, and then be told by our editor to find something else, the buzzkill.

(Image via cowfish on Flickr)

AP, TMZ, and CNN report legendary performer Whitney Houston has died at age 48, as confirmed by her publicist Kristen Foster. She was found at the Beverly Hilton hotel (not by current boyfriend Ray J despite the rumor going around) and the cause of death is not yet known, but one thing is certain: the crew for the Grammy Awards airing tomorrow are scrambling to put together a tribute befitting someone as unbelievably talented and loved as Houston was.

In her short, tumultuous life she earned 6 Grammy Awards, 2 Emmy Awards, 22 American Music Awards, 30 Billboard Music Awards, 7 Billboard #1 singles, and an Honorary Doctorate in Humanities from Grambling State University. She has sold over 170 million albums and was the first woman to debut at #1 on the Billboard Charts.

I needn’t tell you the difficulties she had with addiction or make jokes about it. We all know about the struggles she had and of her much-publicized divorce from Bobby Brown in 2007. As she told Diane Sawyer in a 2002 interview, “The biggest devil is me. I’m either my best friend or my worst enemy.” Houston entered rehab last May, reported a representative at the time.

In the New York Times’ obituary for her, the paper described her voice thusly: “Ms. Houston’s range spanned five octaves, and her voice was plush, vibrant and often spectacular. She could pour on the exuberant flourishes of gospel or peal a simple pop chorus; she could sing sweetly or unleash a sultry rasp.” Amen.

She is survived by 18 year old daughter Bobbi Kristina Brown. Let’s remember her at her best, like this song for the ages…

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