Those Brits are such masters of understatement.

Instead of bagpipes, imagine it’s Donald Trump.

Where the hell was the right fielder on that? The ball caromed 40 feet toward him yet he was nowhere to be seen. 

I have to commend the steady camera-work in the midst of all that chaos. Nice job.

That drug lord could have hired whoever is killing all the tourists down there, because nobody knows who the hell is doing that.

Waffle House is IHOP with more felons.

“Camping money”?

Look at the queen’s face thinking “What the fuck is that on your head?”

The Nats will employ him as a specialist, using him only to pitch at to Bryce Harper.

You mean this shirt?

The Nats just signed her to a minor league contract.

From the size of that crowd, it looks like everybody got a T-shirt.

I scrolled ahead. At 17 minutes in, the score is 1/2 to nothing. Not 1 nothing... 1/2 to nothing! Lower scoring than soccer.

My back aches just watching that.

There are rules against eating on the Metro.

That mustache was never going to be a thing. Chaplin barely pulled it off. For all his evils, at least Hitler killed off that look. It and Hitler were meant for each other.

Whenever Sarah Hucksterbee Sanders starts a sentence with “Look,” - which she does often - whatever comes next is either obfuscation or a flat out lie. Mostly a flat out lie.

It’s easy for me.  I do not believe a single thing said or written by Donald Trump unless and until I can independently verify it.  His long track record makes that a necessity.

Hmm. I thought Vampire Weekend made well-crafted, technically proficient, listenable pop music.  Color me chastened.