Over the last two decades, Maxim has featured a bevy of beauties on its covers, from Hollywood starlets to sexy female sports stars. But like the unfortunate souls found on Playboy's worst cover-girl list, Maxim does suffer the occasional miscast. Although it may be interesting to see Fergie in a bra, even the mag's target audience might think twice about incorporating her into one's genteel nighttime fantasies. But Fergie's hardly the only gal who maybe didn't turn in her best work fronting for Maxim.

Whether you watched last night's Emmys on a dusty television set or on a shady internet stream prone to buffering and choppy playback (21st century chic, wave of the future, etc.), you probably noticed that TV's landmark three hour salute to TV seemed perkier than years past. And while a number of harsh elements threatened to barrel us to boredom -- like the dual monotone of Jennifer Love Hewitt and Patricia Arquette ("LOL! We both play mediums!" cried JLoHew as we eyed that Ambien hungrily) and Jeff Probst's acceptance speech (seriously -- over Padma Lakshmi?), the night was easily redeemed by over a dozen people. And one of them didn't even need to actually be present for her act of valiance.

Every year, Hollywood's TV elite have a circle jerk and many of us sit down to watch the reach-around because we're perverts or sad, bored, lonely people. The glitterati congratulate themselves on what a great job they all did and how they've revolutionized American culture for generations to come even though no one (apart from me, I suppose) watched The Comeback. And every year, civilians and TV connoisseurs alike are baffled by how increasingly inaccessible the winners are. If nobody's watching Breaking Bad, does that mean it's any good? (Well, it is, but that's not the point.) And also, if no one continues watching it after it wins the gold, then really, what use are the Emmys? Well none, which is why if this year's a bust, it may be marginalized to cable next year. With this year's crop of nominees (and slightly bloated short-lists), we could pick a few bones. For example, Entourage again? Two and a Half Men up for any kind of acting award? Why, Universe! Why must you reward crap? But enough despair. A run-down of what the TV gods got right follows.

Few things excite good lefty males -- chosen and goyim alike -- such as the prospect of a naked Sarah Silverman. Add in a conspicuous Barack Obama tattoo, and one can even get past the fact that it's an imaginative illustration (rather than a full-color trifold photo spread) from the capable hand of Louisa Bertman. Click the jump for a reasonably full version.

Laugh Legend Caroline Hirsch of the eponymous Caroline's on bringing the funny, luring tourists, and laughing off a recession.

Point of Origin: I was born in Brooklyn and moved to Manhattan when I was, I think, 24 years old and went to City College and FIT, which is how I ended up in retail. I was working at Gimbels, which was going out of business, so as market reps, we were out, too. Because I was collecting unemployment, I had a little time to look around. Then I kind of fell into this business, the business of comedy -- it just happened. Bob Stigley just loved to go to a comedy club called Freddy's on 49th Street, and before long, he and a couple of other friends wanted to open a cabaret. Bob decided to use a woman's name for the cabaret we planned to open in Chelsea, and that was the start of Caroline's.