"That looks just like my husband's.... JOHNSON!!!"

Tank refuses to take shit from anybody.

We have always known that Tank Johnson lived life according to his own rules. Nobody told Tank what to do; he made up his own mind. Hell, we even wrote about it a while back at The DUMB.

But after what has come to light over the past week, we have to wonder if there is a brain in that big huge head of his, or if it's just filled with malted hops and bong resin. From what we hear from Tank's neighbors, he was less than a model citizen. Reports indicate that the police were regular visitors to the Johnson residence, and allegations of "back-yard gunfire and marijuana smoke at the address" swirled. Animal control was called in several times.

This led to the police raiding Tank's house. And judging by what they found when they got there, those neighbors were right. Then, a few days after that, Tank's "bodyguard" gets killed outside a Chicago nightclub. What the hell is going on? And why does Tank Johnson need a bodyguard? What is he afraid of getting attacked by, a shark riding an elephant?

Lovie Lee has benched him. No Tommie Harris, no Tank Johnson.

JOHNSON!!!

Full control of the skull.

This week's "Best Supporting Drunkard" Award goes out to Kevin Craswell of Surrey, England. Kevin passed out on some train tracks that were frequently used by commuter trains at 11 in the morning. According to eyewitnesses, he "was snoring so loudly that commuters could hear him from the platform as he lay across the tracks with his feet inches from the live rail."

Pretty solid.

Trains were canceled, electrical power to the rails had to be shut off, and hundreds of people's travel plans turned to shit.

Pc Keith Board, of British Transport Police, said: "It was remarkable that he wasn't struck by a train or fatally electrocuted. Trains had to stop running and the power was turned off so police and emergency crews could get to him."

Another officer, Pc Graham Cottington, said: "If he had moved his leg one foot, he would have touched the live rail and there's 750 volts going through that. He would certainly have died."

Kevin is looking at some potential prison time at the big house, but luckily for him it seems that he has a bang-up lawyer who puts up a pretty strong defense case: "He had drunk a substantial amount of vodka and has no recollection of this incident."

Yup, that sounds like one heck of a lawyer.

Frankie Piscopo's pet monkey looks for someone to fling some poo at.

Our friend Casey does a great job over at monkeydaynews. Everybody knows that. But he found one exceptionally good story, so exceptional we had to mention it. Apparently, Frankie Piscopo's pet monkey escaped from home while mourning the loss of her hetero life-partner. While on the loose, she was spotted in several areas, but soon she started visiting the retards and hyper-hypo's down at Magnolia House. The monkey's daily visits, wandering around the grounds of the mental health facility, soon became a small hit and caused quite a commotion.

The manager of the center, Charlotte Wooten, says that the monkey has been causing quite a rumpus amongst the residents: "We've been excited. I was excited all day yesterday, especially after I got some really good pictures. We've all been walking around three days with cameras in our pockets."

However, Ms Wooten and the monkey did have an awkward moment: Ms. Wooten claimed that she "went outside to take some pictures of Maggie on Wednesday, but when the monkey turned and looked at her, they both ran."