His appeal comes from his eyes. When he is flatulating he looks into the camera and straight into your soul. You truly feel that he is not releasing gas from his ass because his body compels him to but because he wants you to know what it means to be human.

In a way, aren’t we all a fart-recording Doug from New Jersey?

but

I’m sorry L. Jackson, but please run this wheeeeel

nothing but a fat old man with little girl legs. If we want to look to the future we’ve got to tear down the past!

Bill Polian built the perennially-Super-Bowl-contending Bills. He built the Manning-era Colts, often scraping together leftover sweepings to keep them competitive.

Except that the Trop is Wrigley Field compared to the old Olympic Stadium. People in Tampa have all year to enjoy the outside (hell, they’re probably happy with the air conditioning). People in Montreal have to hide in an underground city for five months out of the year like a bunch of C.H.U.D.s and on top of that,…

Guy was an o-line coach, of course he moved folks out of the way for the benefit of the team.

+1 pulling guard my friend.

Low man wins is a motherfucking hero.

“[MOVIES]? Oh, hell yeah - I [WATCHED] all the [ADJECTIVE][MOVIES]. On [FILM REEL/VHS/BETA/SUPERVIDEO/LASERDISC/DVD/BLU-RAY/HD VIDEO]. I [WATCHED] them until I knew everything to know about [REFERENCE].”

This review probably comes closest to my problems with the book. It’s not so much the nostalgia that bothers me, and it’s not so much that the nostalgia doesn’t really go anywhere. That’s the paint the author has decided to use in this painting. It’s that the plot is so paint by numbers that the book really should…

I have never loathed a protagonist as much as Wade. I actively rooted against him despite knowing how the entire plot would unfold within the first few chapters. He represents everything I hate about ‘nerd culture’- the arrogance and gate-keeping of those who consume it. That being said, I loved hate-listening to this…

As a fan of literary critics tearing down bad books I found this review to be a fun, silly romp that allowed my mind to spin up memories of other bad books I’ve read. Now the chic thing to do is to say that Jeb Lund is chic.

This book desperately grabs you by the shoulders and screams “See how cool I am! This is funny! This is hip!” It’s like a chatbot that’s been fed an 80's almanac.

I was listening to a podcast a while back, and one of the guys posited this idea of the “idiot detective,” where our brains get so excited that we recognize something that we don’t really care if it makes logical sense to be there or if it adds anything substantial to the plot, because we’re so excited that we make…