It’s a brand new week, and I feel like shit’s fat brother. I have the flu, and I know exactly where I got it: at Thursday night’s birthday celebration for the venerable Brad Monahan. That’s where a three year-old greeted the arrival of our pizzas by standing on his chair, putting his hands on his back and coughing—straight up into the air and sort of left to right, like a sprinkler. I felt liquid hit my face. I did not restrain myself form eating pizza in any way, which is why A) I should not be in charge of my own behavior and B) children should be briefly boiled upon arrival in any restaurant. While I sweat through a series of disturbingly cyclical dreams, how about you enjoy this exhaustive inquiry into the Kony 2012 phenomenon. It’s either great or hideously cynical—probably both!