Idea:

Since there's a new top gun here at the Sift, I propose a roast of either the new number one, or the old number one, or both. After all, we can't let the new number one let his newfound glory go to his head, and we can't let the old number one slip to number two in a field of about 1000 without hurling an appropriate amount of feces in her general direction. Furthermore, I think that the master of ceremonies for the roast should be the last roastee: Mycrofthomlz. It'll fall to him to maintain some sense of order and decency for the proceedings. He already knows the standards, so I'm sure he can be counted on to enforce a two poop-joke minimum.

Of course this is contingent on them being willing to submit to this salute by their peers. If not, we can always roast Mycroft again. He seemed to enjoy having aspersions cast on his mother's sexual morality.

Or there's dag. Being that he lives in some third world country 37 time zones off from the rest of us, he'd be asleep for most of the proceedings. The best kind of victim is an unconscious victim, I always say.

Or there's me. But I must warn you that I have no sense of humor.