Al Queda has a point.
Shit like this makes me wish that the terrorists had won.

*Reviewing JohnNord's application to become an Anarchist*

Man-that'd be like one of the best Christmas presents ever.

Perhaps we can previal upon Brad Pitt…
…to convince Leno of his mortality.

I'd better be gettin' some royalties if it is.

*Delko pulls speedo out of butt crack*

Troll-for the prepubescent fucktard win.

Like I've said before, Troll, all that homoerotic shit is your sole preserve and prerogative from here on out.

Bullshit, Troll!! YOU stole THAT handle from ME, and started pulling all your lame ass gerbil fartery with it! So I registered this one so you can't use it! SO FUCK OFF AND DIE!!!

Hey, I'll bet Chubby Chasee has a recipe for buttcream cupcakes!

What if he's Hugh Jackman's gay love interest?

^Pithiest movie review in AVC history.

Damn, JVS…you got's some of the soul of a poet in you, brother. No shit. Said in all non-ironic and non-sarcastic earnest.

Sheee-itt!!! I been stocking up on guns and ammo since the middle of Reagan's first term. I could take on the casts of two Mexican soap operas with the shit I carry around in the trunk of my car…not to mention all the extras I got in the bunker.

It's a Mexican Plot
…to exterminate the Gringos through biological warfare. And to force us to allow Erik Estrada back on American TV.

No, merely observing that lots and lots of married couples don't give up on meaningless sex with strangers, only to realize that meaningless sex with strangers ultimately proves to be…well, meaningless. The price for that is not inconsiderable, even before you get hitched. The price for it afterwards can be down…

JVS, just think about having to make the beast with two backs when one of them is Lady Disdain's. Monogamy's lookin' better and better, ain't it, dude?

Holy Shit. It's like what would happen if Agent Smith got really bored with trying to outwit Keeanu Reeves.

Strange that, what with all the documentaries about the Amish, no documentarian's ever captured them picking bugs and scabs out of one another's beards.

Hey, Riff, you forgot to mention that delightful bouquet peculair to small-town mid-level beauracratic flunkies, comprised of equal parts of denture halitosis, pitted out polyester short-sleeved shirts, brylcream, antifungual powder, microwave burrito flatulence, and existential despair. I thought that being a…