The stream of information we unceasingly tread has made the presidential debate no longer worthy of comment. Jim Lehrer became a meme and both sides lied a bit. Romney talked louder. While watching the political process unfurl in front of Lehrer, it reminded me of watching the British show Robot Wars on PBS. Contestants on Robot Wars pitted their homemade remote-controlled robots against each other for cash prizes and fame. The bots themselves were usually squat killing machines, wired with buzzsaws and pneumatic hammers. The whole point of the event was to destroy the rival bot, but watching someone’s bot get torn apart made me cringe. Think of the money, the weekends, the planning, the drafting, the sweat that goes into making that machine do what it needs to do, only to see it fail. Now think about the legion of people who groomed each politician for months or years, only to see the polticialbot puke oil and burst into flames. It’s heartbreaking, if you can get beyond rooting for a brand of an idea/animatronic mascot.

It’s been a good week for nothing fights. Tanning Mom has challenged Octomom to a boxing match in a battle to stay visible. Alone, Octomom and Tanning Mom deserve little to no respect. Together, they have somehow acknowledged that their own way to stay relevant is a symbiotic relationship based on rivalry. It’s kind of wacky, but in a sad way. It’s sad wacky, like a peanut brittle jar of spring-loaded broken memories, or a postcard of a dead whale wearing sunglasses that reads “life’s a beach.”  Octomom and Tanning Mom have nothing to box for besides a equally desperate bookie in Vegas (odds favor Tanning Mom). I hate throwing around the term “thunderdome,” but the Octomom v. Tanning Mom fight will be the truest representation of the actual Thunderdome: two enter, and no matter which one leaves, they re-enter a bleak landscape knowing their choice to fight directly degraded humanity.

The pettiest fight of the week has to go to the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation, for refusing to take donations from Pornhub.com. I didn’t realize the Komen foundation was already so close to finding a cure for breast cancer that they can turn money away. I’m sorry you’re on your high horse, Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation, but when a porn company says they’ll give you a fraction of their income, you say “cool, we need money, because, you know, cancer fucking sucks.” Pornhub has stated they are pursuing other charities, so fingers crossed that soon you will be able to stream the Hulk Hogan sex tape for the benefit of breast cancer awareness.

Or, better than watching a wrinkled Hulkamaniac complain about eating 10 minutes before having sex and having his phone’s ringtone, one of his daughter’s songs, play mid-fellatio, you can spend five dollars that’ll both go toward breast cancer and net you this year’s most important stand-up comedy act. Very funny comedian Tig Notaro has released a recent stand-up act she performed after being diagnosed with breast cancer. At 32 minutes, it’s a hysterical and heartbreaking look at life that’s ultimately optimistic. She has stated a portion of the proceeds are going toward cancer foundations. Spoiler alert: since the recording she’s completely healthy, and has won the fight.