I’ve found my Sunday freedom to be wonderful. Even if I’m stuck somewhere with a game on, it’s at best a casual distraction. After I dropped fantasy and wasn’t wired to the scoreline, I found it really easy to fade out on the actual games. 

Now I can sit down by the pond and listen as they croak the score to Rent or some Judy Garland standards...

Makes me miss the good old days when you’d just invest your illicit proceeds in 10,000 copies of your own mixtape to get a label to think you could move (music) product. 

Whenever I think I’ve seen maximum Kinja, a hero arises.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Call 1-800-273-8255

Lead exposure also accomplishes what you’re going for here. Just don’t tell DC.

The Col. Sanders tale has the whiff of the sort of louder-than-a-dog-whistle meme my in-laws would share. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something about Sanders, PC culture and black people liking fried chicken circulating on their facebook walls that they all LOL about despite a complete lack of humor. 

All I have is anecdote from watching too much soccer, but “deliberate” appears to be defined in practice as “not clearly accidental.” It involves a lot of “was his arm in a natural position?” and “could he have avoided?”

Tying to graduation is one of those things that sounds good and lets the Penn State and Notre Dame types rah rah the only completion percentages they can cheer...but it fails utterly in practice.

I have to applaud such commitment to the bit. +1

Who is Number One?

As a Leicester fan, it was fun to see Harry Maguire carrying the ball so much.

You win a Skinny Atlas beer from 1996.

I had a faint hope that this year’s weird situation of Europa qualification dropping so low in the table might have inspired LCFC to fight for 8th place, and that might have kept Mahrez, but when they failed there I knew he was gone. Despite the fact everyone else knew it months before...I was hopeful or deluded.

I’d agree. Nine hours is a vagrancy and loitering arrest in my mind.

My MIL, out to eat, thinks she is the monarch of a small country who can deal out executions for things like too many tattoos, a server coming too fast/too slow, or, basically, existing while working in a service industry job.

Belated follow up: what about tossing it in the wing bones bucket? That’s just going to get dumped, I reason, but my sig other was quite upset with me. 

A legitimate and earnest response. It’s like I don’t even know Kinja anymore.

I once had a sig other that “but in Europe...” “when I was in Vienna...” every time we finished eating and I tried to get out the door in under two hours.

I got an earful from an old white lady the other day (over the phone, so she didn’t know who she was talking to, but they never care, do they?) about how she couldn’t come to the (downtown) office in person, because she was accosted once before and she was so fearful. “Accosted” meaning “a black or hispanic guy looked…