If we all just offer up enough Thoughts and Prayers (tm), we’ll never have another mass shooting again.

Putting aside her intelligence and humor and level of care for Americans for a moment, I remain floored by how gracefully MObama has handled the sheer racism and sexism that has been leveled at her. For fucks sake, she is routinely called a man and an ape! I’d be apoplectic, and I’m just a standard citizen.

“Being your first lady has been the greatest honor of my life and I hope I’ve made you proud.” - Melania Trump

My full-blooded Newf in the back, my part-Newf, part-??? in the front. Dirty window in the foreground because I have two big slobber monsters.

My full-blooded Newf is pretty non-pushy when I’m eating food. She may turn her sad eyes for a bit, but she’s more interested in keeping an eye on the street (shady mailmen abound) than mooching.

My part-blooded Newf though - he will creep closer and closer until his nose is practically touching whatever I’m eating. …

If you want to be basic, as I usually am, you can’t go wrong with a Ritz. If you want to feel like a fancier international-woman-about-town, I suggest a seedy lavash (I slather the cheese on one, and sandwich another on it in a sort of sad, childless lady sandwich).

Port wine cheese balls are the ULTIMATE bad weather food. You stay in your pajamas, curl up under a blanket (or put your feet under a Newfoundland laying on the floor), and just shovel that cheese into your face-hole. It’s heaven.

When my husband and I (child-less, alas, and therefore not living) fight, I usually finish my side of the argument with this line.

I’m not alive; I’m more of a hazy idea thought up in a mad-man’s fever dream.

Well, Jude, I think you can’t really live unless you have a Newfoundland dog for cuddling purposes and you eat at least one port wine cheese ball a week. But that’s just me.

I’ll be in my shame corner, thinking about what I’ve done.

It’s called a “Cruz” and it’s so in right now.

The advanced level course will be called “Real Men Love Jesus.”

True, succinct.

This was an everyday technique in my house growing up. My mom and dad used to pretend to call the cops to take me away because I was “being bad.”

<Cut to Brad doing a wacky, spastic dance while the crowd goes wild and Angie storms backstage in tears>

I like that I can get fired for accepting a gift from a supplier (like the bag of pistachios that one supplier tried to give me over the holidays), but Officer Pew-Pew there can beat the shit out of a compliant teenage girl and keep his job.

Do you think this guy “talks” to bad guys in his mirror every morning, pulling out his gun and trying on mirrored sunglasses for the most badass look?

He had to have made some dark deal with a demon to escape a quadruple bypass. If I smell fried chicken, I pack on the pounds too.