I feel like if you get hit by somebody named "Big Jim", you're gonna have a bad time.

Circumstantial evidence leads me to believe Robert Allenby is a Hufflepuff.

Of all the people in this story who could have been named "Charade Keane," the homeless lady who helped him into the cab would have been my last guess.

"Holy crap. He looks terrible."

That's some crack reporting there.

It's just a Buffalo Hand Warmer

Looks like he was playing the Browns this week, too.

Somebody called an end around, I see.

This Blogger Is The Worst Thing On Gawker

Presto Flo: Don't push me cause I'm close to the edge, I'm trying not to lose my hat...

chingos upon chingos of water

A shitload of water + speed / idiocy = critical injury

Prople are made up of mostly water. All I have to do is put my fist is some ice cubes for a little while then go around punching people for charity.

There's a key piece of information missing here:

There's already an all-Nutella restaurant in Brooklyn. It's called My Apartment.

Counter-Counterpoint: Yes, but at least it doesn't smell like hobo urine.

I'd rather just buy jars of Nutella and spoon it into my mouth. No need to get fancy.

Whoever broke that bowl over Drunk Mario's head is an American hero.

The Google search for Cav fans: "How to 'unburn' a jersey"

I've recently found a little positive self-talk helps improve anxiety around sleep and, from there, sleep quality. I have a tendency to stress out about not getting enough sleep. So, lately, I've been soothing myself with, "No matter the time, I'll wake up refreshed."