The opposite holds true: if I receive unsolicited abuse from somebody that includes their personally-identifying data, I feel totally justified in airing out that dirty laundry. Fuck them in general and in particular.

Hence “violating established trust in an even vaguely intimate relationship is incredibly different.” CNN’s not an ex-lover in this case.

If Senator Jimeth Crundlebits (R-CX) decides to email me unsolicited nude pictures:

And? If Senator Jimeth Crundlebits (R-CX) decides to email me really bad limericks from his personal Lycos Mail account, he doesn’t get to tell me what to do with that email. Taking it out might amount to professional courtesy, but again, that’s courtesy. Not sure that the Perpetual CNN Sewage Leak has earned that…

HYPOTHESIS: there are going to be at least four comment threads started by men who have something to say like “I love pleasing women with the area proximal to my face” or “I cannot believe there are so many selfish lovers out there, unlike me, who also volunteers at an animal shelter” or “the only time I ever accepted…

Co-signed (presumably; I’m kinda having trouble making out the words on the screen for some reason and may have typed “ca-slyucci”).

DEFENSE COUNSEL: Of course these officers operating under the banner of the NYPD intentionally broke somebody’s leg. When one of them insinuated that he was going to assault the tall athlete man, he got called a midget.

[Note: I still don’t think ghosts are a thing.]

Local TV contacted the owner of the store, who said that this had nothing to do with Henson being a black guy. Per the manager, the store was robbed three times in the past 18 months, and one of those times, the suspect’s vehicle had dealer plates; an associate saw the dealer plates, and reacted. Presumably, if Henson…

KOBE DID 9/27
INFOWARS.COM

Pretty much. Zombie hordes perfectly manipulate a viewer’s feelings of paranoia, claustrophobia, and/or impotence—and depiction as a global or otherwise widespread event removes the normal psychological safe-harbors like ambivalence towards a protagonist’s motivation (“I would never try to dig up a suspected vampire”)…

This has the skeleton of a story like To Serve Man: at the end, somebody reads the guy’s business card, and his name is Edmund Waffle. The audience gasps, Rod Serling chastises us over somesuch, cut to commercial.

“Marry me. [fart]”

batter orgasm

Totally nailed the frontside fakie bigspin to tailblock slide, but without the fisheye lens, it lacks a certain something.

“When I move, you move.”
“Just like that.”

[elbows through line at county clerk’s office] Uh yeah I’m here to register myself as a church?

Pretty much anything I’d want to say requires a clap emoji between each word so I’ll just leave it at this: we don’t ask the night sky why there aren’t more shooting stars; instead, we gasp and exult in a moment that may have been shared with millions, but remains ours alone to cherish.

If you’re going hoarding, go newspapers: they bring the garbage to you.

It’s been a minute since I was in the online dating game, and I was an OKCupid-er up to and including the time I met my wife (it works!), but is there really such a gender disparity in initiating contact? I look(ed) like a honey-baked ham fell into a dime store lumberjack costume, but the balance of messages in to…