After a long, long day of work, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as wallowing in the pain of others. Or reminding yourself that your life could be worse, whichever. So traipsed on over to PostSecret and let the pathos flow.

In the hallways of an endless, anonymous confessional, there has to be a lesson to be learned. My first reaction - is this my secret? ‘I laugh at the pain of others?’ - was to take the flippant route and say ‘of course the stripper said she loved you’ or ‘no wonder you don’t have friends (you’re ugly and have a bad disposition),’ but for every jokey, cheekily ridicule-ready posting on the site, five others with the emotional punch of a shotgun (ironically) mock your mockery.

Apparently the Buddha was right with his ’suffering is the universal condition’ shtick. Tonight’s take-home message, which changes depending on the time of day I look at the site, my mood at the time, etc., was that yes, you’re a horrible person, you sender-of-postcards-to-PostSecret. But here’s why I keep coming back: I’m so much worse.

Let’s hope this site doesn’t fall into Oprah’s hands: The last thing the world needs is an army of glassy-eyed drones, free from their shackles of guilt purchased for 37 cents a pop, overrunning the countryside.

Dammit. There I go being flippant again.

Fact of the day: Lance Armstrong’s resting heart rate. It’s freaking 32 beats per minute. He’s an effing robot.