We would have enjoyed this story just as it was, honestly. Some early morning Procrastination Googling turned up the fact that “Chip” Sutcliffe is ranked number 98 on the “New York’s Top 100 High School Scenesters” list on Gothamfrat.com. This list provided us with much joy! The little scamps had gone and ranked themselves! It’s like those videos of cats eating with utensils—it’s adorable when they try to act like people, even as they do it all wrong.

But that was hardly the end of this story…because the bride happens to be the younger sister of doughnut-magnet Spencer Martin, aka David Frieze, killer of our dearly departed Sonny Lavinski. Yes! He was there! And he didn’t disappoint!

For reasons known only to himself, Martin took to the dance floor and performed an astonishing solo number, which concluded with his taking flight and doing a full body slam on his sister’s massive wedding cake.

We would not have believed this story had it not been accompanied by many, many photos…photos we stared at for hours last night. Had the stress of murdering Saint Sonny finally broken him, we wondered? Had he grown tired of having other people throw food at him and simply decided to do it himself?

OUR SPECULATIONS WERE INTERRUPTED…by even more news of Martin. Our contact on the set of Crime and Punishment called to tell us that his name has mysteriously vanished from the call sheet and no one in charge is talking. What could possibly be going on?

We beg you to send in your tips. In the meantime, please enjoy our favorite photo of the wedding celebration. We have a selection of prizes for the best captions.

DAWN OF THE DESPERATE

Sunday was a murky day. A moody day. The sky was the color of the rinse water that Scarlett used to produce when playing with her watercolor paints when she was little, each dip of the brush leaving a milky touch of pigment until it was a thin, gray mess. Her dress from the night before lay deflated on Lola’s bed. Her own bed was littered with all things Biology—a desperate scramble of notes on papers and cards, notes on her computer, her textbook, a mess of handouts. Much of this information was in her head, but in pieces—pieces that didn’t connect together to make a picture.

And it was almost evening.

She could call Dakota. Dakota was at home studying as well, and Dakota knew what she was doing and had two Biology professors in her house. As Scarlett reached for the phone, she realized that if Dakota picked up, she was going to have to talk about last night. She would have to explain what she had done.