Untimely deaths, domestic abuse and Paul McCartney's libido … this year's Grammys was pretty depraved. Here's what we were still asking when we came round on Monday morning:
How well do you know Adele? Twitter was awash with people remembering the super-personal connection they had with the singer back in Blighty when they once saw her on a bus, on the other side of the street, on stage at the O2 etc.
"Why did Rihanna even complain about Chris Brown?" Not us asking, you understand, but one of hundreds of teenage girls on Twitter who disturbingly announced that Brown (left) was so cute, they'd be more than happy for him to punch them in the face. By that logic, London Zoo could sell tiger cub maulings.
How famous do you have to be to get on the red carpet? We only ask after E! presenter-droids had to struggle through interviews with Cut Copy, Duck Sauce, artists more at home on niche dance blogs.
Is Paul McCartney back on the market? Why else would he (right) sit in a white jacket, backed by string, crooning a Valentine's ode like the male lead at the end of a slushy Olsen twins movie?
"Who the hell is Bon Iver and how in fucking hell did he beat Skrillex?!?!?!" Just one of the many confused tweets on the "Who is Bon Iver?" Tumblr. It's easy to mock, but if Bon Iver wore a sandwich board that said "I'M BON IVER," we'd still fail to pick him out of a crowd.
Was the remaining Beach Boys' reunion not a big enough occasion? Why else would the Grammys make them share the stage with Foster the People and Maroon 5?
What job does the guy who dressed as the pope to walk Nicki Minaj down the red carpet put on his passport?
Obituary writers prepare for the worst in advance, so does Jennifer Hudson practise power ballads by troubled stars in case she gets that 3am call?
