The presence in the sky of that strange, punishing ball of fire means only one thing: It’s em-effin’ morning again. Say ciao to your dreams, and hola to a whole new day of soul-crushing reality. There’s no better way to get your disillusion rolling than with a healthy dose of depressing news.

President George W. Bush goes in for a Brazilian. It’s for when he pulls the Scooter Libby pardon out of his ass, and TV cameras are around to watch.

Defense Secretary Robert Gates doesn’t see China as a threat. Who is a threat these days? North Korea? Venezuela? There’s no room on that list for a country with more than a billion people and economic interests directly in competition with ours?

The “surge” moves one step closer to a reality. Someone call the Raging Grannies.

Medical investigators know what killed Anna Nicole Smith, but they aren’t saying. No drugs in her stomach or foul play, though. My hunch: She died of preemptive boredom from the 24/7 news coverage of her death.

In a story of hope, a formerly half-ton man from Mexico has seen the sun for the first time in years, thanks to the fact that he only weighs 840 pounds now. Priceless: “To celebrate the milestone, six people pushed Uribe’s wheel-equipped iron bed out to the street as a mariachi band played and a crowd gathered. Then, a forklift lifted him onto a truck and the 41-year-old rode through the streets of San Nicolas de los Garza, a Monterrey suburb.” That, friends, is dignity.

In local news, Portland’s Drug-Free Zones appear to be disproportionately targeting African Americans, but no one from the police bureau or the mayor’s office can fully explain why (more on that later today). SE Division appears to be headed for a gym turf war, and cops may be trying to pressure the Office skate shop to stop selling spray paint.

Consider yourself infotained.