Mom: /points at black plastic tray on the floor
Doesn’t that need to be picked up?

SP: No, it’s Wonder Dog’s ice cube tray. That’s where we put her ice cubes when she asks for them.

Mom: Why is it on the floor?

SP: Because Wonder Dog is on the floor.

Mom: /points at black plastic tray on the floor
Doesn’t that need to be picked up?

Birthdays today are a particularly auspicious group, starting with the guy who helped lay the foundations of libertarian philosophy; a guy whose legacy far outweighs his talent; arguably the finest stand-up bass player to ever walk the Earth; unarguably the finest pianist of the 20th century; an asshole with an amazing songwriting talent; the girl whom I taught oral sex; the King of Cringe Comedy; and the finest wide receiver I ever saw.

OK, news, or what’s left of it.

 

And nothing else happened.

 

I love how basic ignorance of thermodynamics leads to the virtue signalers accomplishing the opposite of their intentions.

 

“Well, first, she was never in the ICU.”

 

Tales of the Gullible.

 

When will that 15 minutes be over? Maybe if she suddenly marries David Hogg, we can have a two-fer.

 

Seriously, there’s not enough popcorn in this world…

 

I hope our Japan contingent can still get Pubrix Roast Chicken.

 

Somehow I’m thinkin’, “Nah, not really.”

 

Old Guy Music is… let’s say… very much of its time. But the guitar work on it is just perfect. And it’s a fun song.