If you play Words with Friends and don’t cheat: you’re a better person than me. Honest to God, I had to delete the app from my phone because of the chicanery it forced me into.
Thoughts On The Dead
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Page 811 of 1031
The irony of shooting people whose speech you don’t like at a free speech event is fairly basic, but you can dance to it.
It is barely–just by three or four degrees–into the 60’s here at Fillmore South. Your humble correspondent has been forced to wear pants IN HIS OWN HOME.
Like an animal.
If posts cease, I have frozen to death and a number of feral cats whom I had thought were my friends are now licking me ike some sort of Jew-sicle.
(Undoubtedly, some of you are revving yourselves up to call me a puss-puss, and tell me your town is so cold that the post office phase-sifted into a Bose-Einstein condensate. Save your energy: I reserve the right to be intensely selfish with my concern about weather; that is: I only give a shit about what it’s like directly outside my front door and along the way to any appointments. Other people’s weather is like other people’s diets or children: I only care about them after they’ve killed a quarter of a million people. Up until then, it’s your problem.)
So, the news anchor we all liked because he seemed like the guy at the end of the bar telling stories is now disgraced because it turns out he behaves like a guy at the end of the bar telling stories?
After posting his well-wishes, Billy went back to forwarding racist shit about Obama.
Also, those are Garcia’s sweatpants Bobby’s wearing. He got them in the will and has never laundered them; if you hold them up to the light, you can see the outlines of Garcia’s potato salad Shroud-of-Turin style.
On and off for most of ’71, Garcia was sepia.
Genetically speaking, TotD is 3/4 Ashkenazi Jew and 1/4 Irish and coincidentally enough: that’s the best combination possible.
How lucky for me.
The insides of those much-coveted jackets were quilted and soft, but the outside performed the impressive trick of being made of satin, yet being so harsh to the touch, you felt as though your fingers might come away full of luxurious and shiny splinters.
Mickey has this jacket because Bill Walton gave it to him.
Mickey has that ponytail because Bill Lambeer gave it to him.
You know that makes no sense, right?
Don’t tell me what I know, dentist-fondler.
Go to bed.
That’s not the worst idea, probably.
“Clown? Check. Jew? Check? Woman named ‘Mountain Girl?’ Check. I guess that’s a quorum, then.”
After the success of Pitch Perfect and its upcoming sequel, Pitch Perfect 2: Anna Kendrick Remains Clothed, the Dead attempted a few a capella numbers, but Phil insisted on being the human beat box and wouldn’t stop making that “wikki wikki” noise. Also, after Garcia was told that a capella songs rarely, if ever, contain 17-minute guitar solos, he lost interest.
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