I heard the buzz about the Control verse and got all excited, but a couple listens left me hugely underwhelmed. A big boasting rap about how you're the greatest ever isn't exactly breaking any new territory here, and his fake tuff guy snarling flow makes me roll my eyes and do the air jerk motion. Didn't The Game…

This, I assume. Cut it out, Lindy!

This comment is my superior officer, so I must salute it.

I don't know. Tits out is good, but tits up is a euphemism for total failure. Is dicks up the same thing?

Under a number of states' laws, maybe not including California, any child born into a marriage is presumed to be the husband's biological kid. That means if Kourtney and Scott were married in Alabama, then someone like this Girgenti character wouldn't have any legal standing to bring a paternity suit, not even if…

♪ Head like a toe

Hearing that that's his actual name really depresses people. Makes going by "Reince" a lot more understandable though.

Like Reinhold Reince Priebus?

What a little sweetums! Very striking similarity, though the worried look is more of a chihuahua thing. Poms pretty much do not ever look worried.

He's a good boy, but he always takes the big bed for himself.

I can't imagine she could have been too discombobulated by the news, considering how efficient she's being with the legal motions.

With the ones I see around my neighborhood, I'm usually like put your shirt on, dude. Even for the joggers and athletic types, it's like come on, there's nothing so important going on under there that it can't stand a covering. Then last week, I was like holy shit, Tarzan in the house. That particular person was…

To a certain extent, I think her crying is interesting not as a woman, but as a media executive. Part of her job is chronicling people's personal and professional downfalls and knocking the mighty down a peg or two. Then, the shoe's on the other foot, and people in a different newsroom are having meetings on how…

I like dumb jokes, so I'd get a foot tall Billy Joel and a tiny piano. I'd tell everyone that I rescued a genie from a magic lamp, but he misheard me and thought I wished for a 12-inch pianist. Yuk yuk yuk.

Least he didn't call her a "filly."

I read Dave Weigel's article in Slate, then checked this one again, and I was like "Oh yeah, Twitter beef." You get him, Erin! I like how he's already staking out the crotchety old grump territory.

Yeah, if that shit was selling, I don't think back-to-school time with the kiddo would seem nearly as insurmountable.