That’s 5 gallons of oof in a 1 gallon bag.

I saw that one being posted by one or two of my friends on my nearly-dead Facebook feed, and thought about helpfully posting the Snopes link. Then I saw the level of froth in the comments and noped myself right the heck out of that idea.

This is broken penis market erasure, and I won't stand for it. Mostly on account of the broken penis.

1. I totes believe that Jordan was shadow-suspended by the NBA for his gambling problems, which may very well have gotten his father killed.
2. Oswald acted alone, but the CIA was up to all sorts of hinky business in Dallas that they covered up... clumsily.
3. RFK's assassination OTOH, is weird.

Prince, Hendrix, Van Halen.

I’m not what you would call a connoisseur.

Literally.

Jim Shooter wanted to be a hairdresser as a teen, but they didn’t make chairs that could rise high enough to reach his hands, so he had to settle for a life in comics. True story.

Although I’m enjoying the show quite a bit, my inner 12 year old always snort laughs when I suggest watching “Joe Nesbø’s Detective Hole” to the missus.

And then the murders began…

Sorry about that. The newsletter probably got
lost in the mail.

Wait, did people think I was wearing all that goofy headwear in my 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s because I was eccentric?

If this were any more sad and pathetic it’d be a blind Icelandic pop star on trial for murder singing show tunes with Joel Grey

Life, uh, finds away.

More amusing was observing a couple going at it in the Circlevision lobby *from* the People Mover.

I don’t know about people being born when the People Mover shut down, but I’m fairly certain that a number of people were conceived on it.

One expects to see this sort of facile nonsense in essays written by first year midwits at some of our lesser institutions off higher learning. To see it being pumped out by the editorial board of a former crown jewel of American journalism is so dispiriting that it makes one puke with sorrow.

Kudos for holding back your Hrabosky rookie card until precisely the right moment.

If this headline were any more cowardly it’d be sashaying down a yellow brick road with a scarecrow and a tin man.

(Though, come to think of it, it’s pretty brainless and heartless, too.)

I'm probably not the first person to note that Animal Farm feels like a project that would be produced by Continental Studios.

Yes.

The Man Who Would Be Prez of the Popes?

No, they're on later. Who is on stage.

The band on the stage.

Matthew 22:21 approves

I read these posts to my wife, in an effort to explain my guffawing.

Her response - “why on Earth did he think going to the Mario movie was a good idea?”

Somewhere, Alanis Morissette slaps her head and says “oh, THAT’S what it is.”

(Begins to type "moon butt" into his search engine, before realizing that it's a trap)

That's my secret, Cap - I wake up every morning expecting implied nuclear Armageddon.

My teenage children have a friend named Steve. Whenever they say some foolish, I ask them if Steve told them that, perchance.

Needless to say, I am constant source of embarrassment for my children.

Would you say you’ve got hurt feelings?

"But I've never been to me."

This is so incredibly pathetic that you've made Theon Greyjoy feel better about his lot in life.

This is so meaningless that it's been excised from the Oxford Unabridged Dictionary.

Dude, you're not just failing to meet the moment, you're actively avoiding any contact with the moment.

Teleport me to the Waffle House
I gotta eat away my blues
My woman just up an left me
And my dog chewed up my shoes

The bank’s foreclosed my trailer
And my heart is feeling sore
So teleport me to the Waffle House
‘Cause I just don’t care anymore

(steel guitar solo)