In lieu of actual content, I bring you the Indian Joey Lawrence, some hot girl, and fifty others rocking out to the catchiest song ever performed on a TRAIN:

Yeah, dude, you’ll “wear her like an amulet.” Whoa.

While sifting through New York Times headlines, trying to stay awake during my morning training session, I discovered the news about the sorry fate of Pluto. My reaction was akin to hearing the death announcement of a distant acquaintance, like that guy who sat behind me in 11th grade English class, who’d flipped his motorbike several years ago. “Pluto who? Oh, that planet! Ah, that really sucks.”

Taken for granted as solidly unspectacular, Pluto was neither the juggernaut of the nine planetary warriors like Jupiter, nor the butt of mockery that is Uranus. Not since learning about the solar system in elementary school did I ever suspect the abrupt sendoff of dearest Pluto, caretaker of the realm of dead things. Its crime: insignificance! Meekness! Content to wander in its preordained path around the far-off sun, soaking what little light comes its way, it shares space with “the icy wrecks of the Kuiper Belt,” according to the NYT article. No rampaging about space, knocking obstacles out of its climb towards planetary success. Just peaceful, passive coexistence, which garners no reward. No respect.

Pluto in human form.

Yes, Pluto is small compared to its more obnoxious siblings, but still, take a gander at its size: 1.3 × 10 to the 22nd kilograms. That’s a good 10 to the 22nd kilograms more than either you or I or anyone reading this blog! If Pluto can be sacked for reasons of insignificance, what of little ordinary puny organisms such as ourselves? Who among us is fit to write the obituary?

Let us have a moment of silence for that cold and lonely speckling in the sky: