I’ll agree on all points, and add that I’m moderately disturbed that “stan” appears so often in this conversation. 

did the slaves that picked up the shoes get to keep them?

Maybe? I’m not sure anyone can name every event in the modern pentathlon.

He’s not that bad, but the league is flush with not-that-bad point guards. 

Taco Bell will pay for it!

It was nice of them to let Kerber have a highlight in there when she made it 2-2 in the second set.

It only works if you do it in the moment. Waiting will confuse the person, and they will just get mad at you

He’s continuing the proud family tradition of “Look, I didn’t actually see what you’re talking about...”

Good to see Geese Howard turning to honest jobs after years of terrorising Southtown.

6 slices sounds like too much food. Could they cut it into 4?

The UPS Store had a good tweet yesterday that they quickly deleted in an unforgivable act of cowardice.

Gamers: “Consumer Rights! The Invisible Hand of the Free Market! Meritocracy! Competition!”

I don’t know why we need a wall when she and the rest of the turd reich can just tuck a glock into the gun pockets of their yoga pants secure that border themselves.

A lot of gays hate the fact he is gay as well.

GET WELL, GET WELL SOON, WE WANT YOU TO GET WELL!

(everything is sounding like a eulogy, Jebus.)

Woo hoo turn it up!

The first instance actually leads to a well reasoned monologue that describes the uselessness of torture-its not a stretch to call it making a case against torture.

For me it is mostly that I don’t really get it, and I can think it is a little eye-rolling when people who make their whole personality around their kinks, doesn’t matter if they are furries, into BDSM or something else. But I agree, they get way to much shit than they deserve.

Crumble? That’s an odd name. I’da called ‘em chazzwozzers.

This reminds me of the time, many years ago, when I tried to make little sausages in a blanket for my then-girlfriend by basically wrenching open a tube of Pillsbury dough, tearing it into wads with my hands, then jamming little cocktail weenies into the dough-wads.

It, uh, did not turn out to be the home run meal I…