I don't eat bread.

I like that you demand excellence in response to your troll posts. Don't let anybody ever tell you you're doing it wrong.

Pretty much summed it up right here.

Well, the top tax bracket in the UK back then was around 90%, so why even bother after a certain point?

Seriously, yesterday's article implied that the medleys are largely a trifle and now those two songs show up here (and never even a mention of the actually very skippable Her Majesty).

Add Abbey Road to that list and I'm right there with you.

I think when Eric Clapton tried getting in on the recording session they dropped the immigrant angle.

And, as always, Ringo looks like a bohemian drug dealer in a 70s cop movie.

I agree with the second part of your post.

And this.

Keep telling yourself that buddy.

Just wait until next week when the High Sparrow explains how a woman's body has a way of "shutting that whole thing down" if it's a legitimate rape. People's heads are going to explode.

The eagles picked him up.

As sad as missing an obvious Simpsons reference?

Real Sex is the only sex-related programming on premium cable that can make horny young teens think maybe actual real sex might not be so great after all.

I'm picturing Mark Ibold looking really uncomfortable as Gary Young makes a rambling, angry speech about how 80/90s indie rock sucks compared to early Sabbath. They're the only two who show up to be inducted, but Bob Nastanovich is in the crowd wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts yelling "Debris Slide!" every few…

The dismissive alternate spelling of derivative blues is blooze, not bleus. Thank you.

And General Grievous should be an actual actor, not some CGI robot spider.

Seeing the creative process behind this gem makes it all the more meaningful.

Is this real, or is it a jokey ending you just made up?