We'll get to that in a moment. For now, stop the presses: Kotaku says there's a building complex in China where the windows are painted on. Let's go to the source and read the story, using the magic of Google's translation wizard.

You can see where that might be the case.

There's a confounding reference, eh? Wikipedia helps:

It was made into a stop-motion movie in 1955, back in Mao times. A sample, here. (Janky computer issues today prohibit embedding, for some reason known only to Baal.)

CRIME Novel defense this fellow has. Trouble is, I can see it working.

Then the judge stepped down from the bench, got out a big wet mackerel, slapped it across the defendant's face, and resumed the trial as if nothing had happened.

BIG NEWS Whoa whoa HOLD ON:

The company said few people will notice the change, and they're probably right. Get this:

Just us, and Pittsburgh. I wonder why.

OBIT There's something about Lou Reed's passing that brought out some bad writing and dubious conclusions. Perhaps the oldest fans feel obligated to write as though they're 25, full of Rock and Roll Gospel. In the Daily Beast, Elizabeth Wurtzel:

No, he's not. Let's look at that line again: He made the most coherent case yet for self-destruction as a lifestyle choice that was somehow more hopeful and rhapsodic than whatever they were selling under steeples. Here's exhibit A in the "Rock and Roll as a Means of Self-Redemption" nonsense. Ah, to be a heroin-addicted hustler in New York in the 70s! Sweating in an unheated abandoned apartment, unable to hav a bowel movement - it's so romantic.

That's enough. Sally can't dance, but she could probably write.

Look, Lou was Lou. He couldn't sing, and wasn't exactly Mr. BlazingHands on the guitar, but he had a certain uncompromising sense of cool that produced an interesting thing now and then. The only album I had was "Street Hassle," which had New Wave Cred when it came out, for some reason. It also had Bruce Springsteen doing a spoken introduction for the title tune, turning his "Tramps like us" like from "Born to Run" on its head. It's a nice little work. It has strings, of all things. But the album also has "Dirt," a song whose calamitous, drunken, stumbling incompetence stands as a glorious rebuke to all the polished, careful pop of the day. Without the chorus of Actual Singers chanting "Cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap Uptown dirt," though, it wouldn't have cohered into anything, and when you consider that it's really about dressing down someone who's just Dirt - cheap, as noted, and also from Uptown - you think, well, Cole Porter it isn't.

Cole Porter he wasn't. But there wasn't anyone else in rock whose name would pop up, and you'd think, with amusement and affection: Lou! Still at it! Wonder what he's up to now? He was an original.

TECH Imagine this conversation, which surely happened somewhere along the line.

"Honey, I'm home!"

"How was work?

"Fine, but I'm troubled by this program we're putting on the computers we rent out. It lets us turn on the webcam and watch people."

"You have to be kidding me.''

"No, it's true. I'm really bothered. The sound isn't syncing like it should and the frame rate's lousy.''

"Aren't you bothered about the ethics of this?''

(pause)

"Explain what you mean about that."

From CNN:

Good Lord.

VIDEO It's titled "Karma Kutters." Dashcam compilation of what befalls the drivers who try to pass on the shoulder. You can probably turn down the sound when the ersatz classical music begins.