Stomp, stomp, squish. That was the news stepping on and killing your tender, furry, adorable dream that Beyoncé was actually singing the national anthem. Scrape, slosh, dee-ba-wee-ba-wee. That was “a tipster” trying to glue those dreams back together and make it purr again. Beytheists versus ear-piece-ripping/singing vein/Beyhive-subscribing Beyvangelists, into the arena you go!

• Prince Harry inserts DualShock controller into mouth, pumps R2 and triangle repeatedly, executes dumb word maneuvers. “So with my thumbs I like to think that I’m probably quite useful.”

• Participant Media teams up with DreamWorks to finance the Julian Assange movie, The Fifth Estate. Can Malfoy hair replace the ombré trend?

• The first clue that a person is lying: He or she “lacks [his or her] own email address.” One commenter writes, “Right, and she had a ghost over for dinner the night before and showed you the plate to prove it. Tomorrow’s follow-up story will be about conversations she had with the ghost.” Good idea, Jill Kelley! Get the ghosts onboard and you can finally be a Real Housewife! Just turn on your fireplace and wait. That’s their entry portal.

• Aren’t all “virtual assistants” kind and gentle before they unionize and stage mutinies? “A kinder, gentler HAL is on its way to the mainstream for sure,” says Kittlaus. “Siri is just a poster child, but it goes way, way beyond that.”

• Alec Baldwin podcasts himself as Hannah Horvath’s therapist.

• See you on SNL probably, terrible Kate Upton Mercedes ad!

• The Lennie Small effect that makes us want to squeeze cute things until they die.

• I will take one bioprinted burger with a side of fries, extra cyan on everything. It will cost “£200,000,” which I assume is like, what, three dollars or something? Yes. I am correct.

• Now you can fake that you were at Sundance, but only had time to watch the 12 short film finalists because you were too busy hanging out with pregnant Kristen Bell, drinking cocoa and discussing sloth parties.