Bob Stevens had worked for supermarket tabloids for 30 years, pasting alien heads on celebrities and making us believe that indeed Elvis is alive. His career was cut short last October after he died from inhalation anthrax upon opening a letter laced with the fatal white powder at American Media Inc. in Boca Raton. More than 500 people attended the 63-year-old photo editor's funeral at the Unity of Delray Beach Church. The parking lot outside the church was filled with journalists waiting to catch a shot of the procession. A few shouted questions at those in mourning. Reporters were, not surprisingly, asked to exercise a little restraint or leave.

Bob Stevens had worked for supermarket tabloids for 30 years, pasting alien heads on celebrities and making us believe that indeed Elvis is alive. His career was cut short last October after he died from inhalation anthrax upon opening a letter laced with the fatal white powder at American Media Inc. in Boca Raton. More than 500 people attended the 63-year-old photo editor's funeral at the Unity of Delray Beach Church. The parking lot outside the church was filled with journalists waiting to catch a shot of the procession. A few shouted questions at those in mourning. Reporters were, not surprisingly, asked to exercise a little restraint or leave.

Say what you will about Michael Koretzky, but he is undeniably irrepressible. And every now and then, he is very, very good. From his turbulent times at XS/City Link to his brief helmsmanship of the now-defunct weekly Free Times in Palm Beach, Koretzky keeps sharpening his role as universal thorn in the side. In his latest venture, the made-on-a-shoestring zine called Slug, he's rubbing the Palm Beach Post and the Sun-Sentinel the wrong way. Koretzky obtained copies of internal memos from the papers and pasted them all over his little publication. Want to see the unseemly Post gloat over the sales boost from 9/11? It's in there. Want to hear the cynical Post boast about beating the competition into the house of a nine-year-old girl who accidentally stabbed her brother in the heart? It's in there. While the raw ambition of the Post is laid bare, the Sun-Sentinel, in a strange way, comes off as even worse; the Sentinel's internal communiqués are unbearably boring in the worst, most sanitized, life-sucking corporate way. Check out this drivel from Sentinel management on strategies to increase readership: "Work on a variety of action plans is nearing completion.... Blitz the market with a campaign to increase our standing as the premiere provider of information." It makes you realize just how important those secondary and tertiary providers of information really are. Keep slugging, Koretzky.

Say what you will about Michael Koretzky, but he is undeniably irrepressible. And every now and then, he is very, very good. From his turbulent times at XS/City Link to his brief helmsmanship of the now-defunct weekly Free Times in Palm Beach, Koretzky keeps sharpening his role as universal thorn in the side. In his latest venture, the made-on-a-shoestring zine called Slug, he's rubbing the Palm Beach Post and the Sun-Sentinel the wrong way. Koretzky obtained copies of internal memos from the papers and pasted them all over his little publication. Want to see the unseemly Post gloat over the sales boost from 9/11? It's in there. Want to hear the cynical Post boast about beating the competition into the house of a nine-year-old girl who accidentally stabbed her brother in the heart? It's in there. While the raw ambition of the Post is laid bare, the Sun-Sentinel, in a strange way, comes off as even worse; the Sentinel's internal communiqués are unbearably boring in the worst, most sanitized, life-sucking corporate way. Check out this drivel from Sentinel management on strategies to increase readership: "Work on a variety of action plans is nearing completion.... Blitz the market with a campaign to increase our standing as the premiere provider of information." It makes you realize just how important those secondary and tertiary providers of information really are. Keep slugging, Koretzky.

At its best, boxing is a balletic display of mental and athletic prowess. But who needs that when there's a bunch of has-been trash-talkers whose royalties ran out in '96 who are willing to get the crapola beaten out of themselves on national television? As evidence of this truth, we turn to Miramar bike-shop owner and former pompadoured pop-rapper Vanilla Ice. 'Nilla just couldn't quite slide across the ring fast enough to avoid the right hooks, roundhouses, and jabs of Todd Bridges, who played Willis on '80s sitcom Diff'rent Strokes. The celebrity match -- also featuring putative Clinton harassee Paula Jones versus Olympic redneck Tonya Harding and Partridge Family vet Danny Bonaduce versus Greg from The Brady Bunch -- was sure entertaining. But we have a suggestion for next time: Vanilla's old-school Aqua-Netted 'do against Paula Jones's fake, uh, fingernails.

At its best, boxing is a balletic display of mental and athletic prowess. But who needs that when there's a bunch of has-been trash-talkers whose royalties ran out in '96 who are willing to get the crapola beaten out of themselves on national television? As evidence of this truth, we turn to Miramar bike-shop owner and former pompadoured pop-rapper Vanilla Ice. 'Nilla just couldn't quite slide across the ring fast enough to avoid the right hooks, roundhouses, and jabs of Todd Bridges, who played Willis on '80s sitcom Diff'rent Strokes. The celebrity match -- also featuring putative Clinton harassee Paula Jones versus Olympic redneck Tonya Harding and Partridge Family vet Danny Bonaduce versus Greg from The Brady Bunch -- was sure entertaining. But we have a suggestion for next time: Vanilla's old-school Aqua-Netted 'do against Paula Jones's fake, uh, fingernails.

Manning the afternoon drive-time shift at WQAM-AM is no soft gig. It's easy to get lost in the afterglow of popular morning and midday hosts Neil "God" Rogers and Jim "Mad Dog" Mandich. And because he's "only" a sports-talk host, Hank "The Hammer" Goldberg doesn't get the style points he deserves. Hammer knows sports, all right, and with no illusions -- he knows that the bottom line often counts for more than the box score. But it's his character that makes the show special, the taste and attitude he dishes out in asides and digressions. Nightclub acts, bookmakers, and Joe's Stone Crab -- Hammer's idea of class is old-school Miami Beach. He's no square, you understand; he just loves the tried-and-true. And macho as the sports world can be, Hammer's got no patience with male chauvinism or gay-bashing, readily smacking down callers who show the slightest hint of either. Want an object lesson in "not suffering fools gladly?" Listen to the smolder in Hammer's tones as he feeds out the rope on a listener's thoughtless rant, then blisters him with "You're an idiot!" and coolly explains -- with flawless logic -- just why. A New Jersey boy -- and you can hear it in his voice -- Hank must have been one of those smart Jewish kids more drawn to the street than the shul. One word of Yiddish he probably knows, though, is heimisch. It means a guy you can trust.

Manning the afternoon drive-time shift at WQAM-AM is no soft gig. It's easy to get lost in the afterglow of popular morning and midday hosts Neil "God" Rogers and Jim "Mad Dog" Mandich. And because he's "only" a sports-talk host, Hank "The Hammer" Goldberg doesn't get the style points he deserves. Hammer knows sports, all right, and with no illusions -- he knows that the bottom line often counts for more than the box score. But it's his character that makes the show special, the taste and attitude he dishes out in asides and digressions. Nightclub acts, bookmakers, and Joe's Stone Crab -- Hammer's idea of class is old-school Miami Beach. He's no square, you understand; he just loves the tried-and-true. And macho as the sports world can be, Hammer's got no patience with male chauvinism or gay-bashing, readily smacking down callers who show the slightest hint of either. Want an object lesson in "not suffering fools gladly?" Listen to the smolder in Hammer's tones as he feeds out the rope on a listener's thoughtless rant, then blisters him with "You're an idiot!" and coolly explains -- with flawless logic -- just why. A New Jersey boy -- and you can hear it in his voice -- Hank must have been one of those smart Jewish kids more drawn to the street than the shul. One word of Yiddish he probably knows, though, is heimisch. It means a guy you can trust.

You have to love Lori Parrish, if not for her unabashed Flo-at-the-diner looks, then for her brash, shameless attitude. She's a woman comfortable with who she is. Parrish is a good ol' girl who knows what she wants: power -- more power than most of us could ever possibly imagine. She wants us all to be Parrishioners. In her most recent Machiavellian move, Her Hairness helped engineer the defeat of fellow commissioner Kristin Jacobs so she could become chairwoman of the commission. And she's used that seat in a way never before seen. Parrish immediately hired two flacks to spread the word on how great the county is; one of the first press releases included pictures of you-know-who. You might think it's all a self-serving, disgraceful joke. But we know Parrish is preening and posing for a higher cause: She wants to become Broward's next property appraiser. It's quite a diabolical strategy: Our souls first, then our homes.

You have to love Lori Parrish, if not for her unabashed Flo-at-the-diner looks, then for her brash, shameless attitude. She's a woman comfortable with who she is. Parrish is a good ol' girl who knows what she wants: power -- more power than most of us could ever possibly imagine. She wants us all to be Parrishioners. In her most recent Machiavellian move, Her Hairness helped engineer the defeat of fellow commissioner Kristin Jacobs so she could become chairwoman of the commission. And she's used that seat in a way never before seen. Parrish immediately hired two flacks to spread the word on how great the county is; one of the first press releases included pictures of you-know-who. You might think it's all a self-serving, disgraceful joke. But we know Parrish is preening and posing for a higher cause: She wants to become Broward's next property appraiser. It's quite a diabolical strategy: Our souls first, then our homes.