It has been pointed out to us -- specifically by the St. Paul Pioneer Press -- that The Black Table is "R-rated." This came as a surprise to us, because The Black Table's "brain" trust consists of four clean-cut, straight-laced whipper-snappers who keep their nose clean and their tails out of trouble. We even hug puppies but we are not, in fact, furries.

But still, we occasionally receive reports of readers not being able to check out The Black Table at work, thanks to those Websense idiots, who confuse us with a porn site. (Have you seen our sitetrackers, Websense? We don't get near enough hits to be porn.) A friend informed us recently that they wouldn't want a 14-year-old to read The Black Table, thanks to the rampant reference to alcohol, sex and, well, alcohol. This made us sad. We consider The Black Table family-friendly.

So. The Black Table is making a New Year's Resolution. We are going to try to appeal more to 14-year-old's across the country, give them what they want, rather than giving disaffected twenty-and-thirtysomethings the same drivel. Our site is now for 14-year-olds; we're going to appeal directly to their interests.

In other words, more alcohol and boobs.

Thanks to everyone who attended The Black Table's second birthday party last Saturday. As you can tell, the two-year-old site is now teething. We have 10 reviews this week, and we'd love more: Use the form on the right to submit, please please please.

-- BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

RETURN OF THE FATTIES: Every year, about the second week of January, I can count on you, the slovenly, flabby masses, to start crowding your dimpled asses into the local gym for a temporary run at that "Next year I'm not gonna be so fucking fat ... I'm gonna get buff!" resolution spit out between ramming down one last double cheeseburger and polishing off a pint of Ben & Jerrys. I can spot the amateurs immediately: brand new Nike/Adidas/Ipod get-up for the young, upwardly mobile guy and gal, or some stained band T-shirt and khaki cut-offs for the techie/indie rocker who hasn't completed a push-up since 8th grade gym class. Don't get me wrong; I'm no powerlifting Adonis myself, and I admire the decision to cardio-box or whatever yourself back to fighting weight … but we both know damn well you're gonna give up by the end of March. At the latest. You always do. So just stop it already with your latest in ab crunch technology (you'll NEVER EVER look like that guy advertising your homoerotic designer underwear; just be happy you can still see your feet) and get

your lazy, sweaty, heavy breathing ass out of my way. There's a McDonalds right around the corner. A for token effort. F for letting yourself become a vessel of lard adrift on a sea of cheese. -- Dubya

PUFFY AMI YUMI: Who are they? What do they do? The only thing I can gather is that they are on the Cartoon Network. I have seen their pink & purple colored nausea-inducing advertisements on New York city buses everywhere for the past couple of months. Whether it be walking the streets, or sitting in a cab looking out the window, whenever I see their fucking Technicolor cheery faces I have the sudden urge to run up to the buses and vandalize them (while fighting the torrent of vomit). The ads themselves and their ubiquity: F. The evil mastermind that came up with the campaign with the net result of me spreading the virus: B+ -- LL

HAVING A KOREAN NAME BUT NOT BEING ONE BIT ASIAN: It is mixed fortune. Having a slime-ball asshole on the phone urging me to ask him more questions because he likes my Asian voice: D. Having a woman at a conference tell me she's looking for that Asian disaster reporter when I'm standing right beside her: D. Telling the Moonies who have somehow found my house -- even though not one pizza place will deliver to my house because it's not really, technically on a road -- that I am Ms. Kim's housekeeper and that Ms. Kim travels a lot: A. Having people think I'm real smart and that I very possibly play the violin real good: A. Overall: B- -- Susan Kim

"GASPING FOR AIRTIME" BY JAY MOHR: Jay Mohr's a fucking moron. The "comedian," who rode his Christopher Walken impression and Jerry Maguire minutes to a comfortable level of pseudo-stardom, has possibly written the worst tell-all about his early days as a "Saturday Night Live" underling during the Sandler-Farley-Spade-Hartman years. Not surprisingly, Mohr didn't have much to do while he was there for two seasons, but has the nerve to whine about his lack of airtime and unfairly ridicules some of his former cast members who, not surprisingly, didn't treat him very well. He blames some of his disappointment and trouble on the set on panic disorders, but mostly he comes off as a guy who thinks a little too highly of himself and his place in the entertainment hierarchy. In fact, he comes off like an asshole, and it's not surprising that Al Franken, Rob Schneider, and Adam Sandler yelled at him, as he notes on several occasions in the book. But he definitely knows how to drop in the disclaimers and the ass-kissing to the right people. Yeah, Jay, you loved Chris Farley and hail him as a comedic genius? Wow. Mind-blowing. David Spade likes to hang out with models? I can't believe you mentioned that! Oh, and then there's the startling revelation that everyone has wanted to know for so long: Ellen Cleghorne's a bitch. F -- A.J. Daulerio

GIVING AWAY A HALL OF FAME PLAYER: When your favorite baseball team has lost more times than any franchise in American professional sports history, you come to expect periodic brain freezes. The most epic gaffes have a way of becoming etched into the game's stone tablets. Such was the case with last week's announcement of Cubs second baseman Ryne Sandberg's election to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Ryno was a member of my beloved Philadelphia Phillies for about six seconds in the early '80s before being thrown into the Larry Bowa-for-Ivan DeJesus trade as an afterthought -- a mere bag of peanuts. Twenty-three years later, Bowa is a managerial wash-up, DeJesus is a hazy memory and Sandberg is headed for a deserved place among the game's immortals. Oh, yeah, and the Phillies have seen the business end of the playoffs exactly twice since the trade. C- -- Tom

OMAROSA'S BURGER KING COMMERCIAL: Don't get me wrong, I love Burger King's latest ad campaign, a "The Office"-inspired series of commercials about what really gets us wage slaves excited every day. But the campaign takes a turn for the worst in its latest ad, when one of the characters doles out angus burgers and says, "Angus bacon cheddar? Who's man enough to handle that?" From out of her office comes Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth, who says, "I am. Omarosa's in charge now." The commercial would be hilarious if Omarosa were engaging in a bit of self-parody, but considering that it's been proven that this former "Apprentice" contestant is certifiable, that's not the case. Thus, the 15 minutes of fame for someone who takes herself way too seriously is extended, and another classic ad campaign jumps the shark. Omarosa: F. The guy who says "This is gonna suck" at the end of the commercial: A -- Tom Panarese

BAR FIGHTS: It's no thing when you bounce every Saturday night at a dive bar in Boston: Things go wrong, people vomit and it's generally OK with me. Part of the gig, really. However, in my quiet little neighborhood on a Tuesday night, some Scottish bird decided she was going to let this 53-year-old guy have it, and it was not OK. The idiot, after being sufficiently humiliated in front of 80 people, calls the cops to the place and proceeds to name drop a bar regular who happens to be on the local police force. Telling the local cops some girl beat the shit out of you D+. Name-dropping bar regular to his fellow coworkers F- -- JD Stone

DEBUTING A STUDENT LITERARY PUBLICATION: The four of us co-founders descended upon the town guerrilla-style with armloads of the little magazines, finding that throwing away other, more useless periodicals and taking their spot trumped, you know, asking a manager. One chain store manager suggested that we provide our own stand, to which my buddy mused aloud, "Well, we could steal that one stand from the dorm..." The manager narrowed her eyes, and we left. The next morning we were greeted with full stacks of our magazines at many public locations, indicating two things: 1) nobody has picked them up and read them, but 2) the maintenance crews haven't thrown them away in the night. Seeing the full stack of The Magazine of Red White Gray on the stands a full afternoon after they were set out: C. Knowing that we came as close as Liberal Arts majors ever will to takin' it to the streets: A -- Anna Jonsson

HOUSE CENTIPEDES: "They live mostly in the areas right outside of cities, someplace you can see a tree or two, but there's still a concrete jungle." So basically, nestled in my North Cambridge apartment where I'm safe from much of the horrors of America, there's still something to be terrified of. Light tan in color, they look like an undulating shadow hustling across the hardwood floor. the heebie-jeebies, jim-jams and willy-nillies, these vermin cause are of a higher order. One of these heart-attack-inducing leg monsters pops out of my woodwork every few months or so. If only I could get W to wage a war on those fuckers. One day, after a sighting that nearly cost me my life, my friend asked me if I'd rather face a house centipede or a bear. Choosing the giant mammal with claws over the "harmless" arthropod: F. Never having said arthropod wiggle into a bodily orifice, even if you are dead from a bear attack: A+ -- kimo

BLACK LIST REVIEWS THAT GIVE TWO GRADES: OK, it was funny at first. I'll give you that. But like any good joke, it got old … fast. Now half the Black List reviews feature a summary about why something is either REALLY GOOD or REALLY BAD, followed by a grade reflecting that point of view. Sounds like a normal review, right? Well, then comes the brief comment expressing the opposite sentiment (and usually an attempt at being funny) and a completely different grade. People: Make up your minds. You put something in context, judge it and administer a ruling. That's what this whole critique thing is all about! F (I bet you thought I would make some sort of brief comment and affix a different grade to be cute. No. Seriously. F.) -- Joey

(Editor's Note: Right on, Joey. We completely agree.)

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