"Are you hearing unusual sounds or voices?" the doctor asked.
"Help us, oh God, it hurts," the boxes of cotton screamed.
"Not exactly," I said.

The story about Jesus' Son for those who haven't heard it: Johnson was hired by some mag to go to the Philippines to write an article for them, only he got sick with something as he stepped out of the plane and spent two weeks half-dead in his hotel room, unable to research the story he was paid in advance to write.…

The previews made it look gawd-awful. The movie wasn't totally horrible—it was slightly funnier and more imaginative that I expected—but a lot of supporting characters are just there for the sake of easy gags, and the whole thing fails the "Monsters Inc." test—it has a complex scheme requiring you to buy into some…

That scene where the Tusken Raider attacks Luke was the only part that really scared me as a kid when I first saw it, back in '77. When I saw the movie the second time, I made sure to take a bathroom break right before that scene.

I had a friend who was a white guy, so I understand your peoples' struggles.

In my head I already did!

I feel pretty. O so pretty.

So, Daelig then?

It's like saying "death panels" or "tax-and-spend;" it's last year's (or last decade's) political buzz-phrase.
I think we should make "reciprocal vortex" or "ecumenical butt-plug" or some other word hash the new phrase that gets people righteously furious.

SPOILERS!

Namor—I mean—wait—

I'm going to cosplay as Powerthirteen at the next A. V. Club con!

They never should have brought in Samuel Beckett as a screenwriter.

That's how I interpreted it—since Josh Gad himself can't do a passable Josh Gad.

What's not to like about Yiddishisms in American English?

I like how Christopher Lee clearly looks like he's enjoying the shit out of being Christopher Lee in that movie.

Reading his obits, I just found out that he was friends with Audrey Hepburn. Man, I'm really starting to hate this guy.
And I came across the story of Amy Winehouse using his name in a lyric, to which Moore responded, "I probably just rhymed with 'door.' Or she couldn't find anything to rhyme with 'Connery.'"

That's All, Ffolkes

It's definitely sad, but I'm somewhat heartened to hear that he was with his adoring children when he died, after a lifetime of 1) being the sexiest spy in all of entertainment, then 2) working to promote UNICEF and help children the world over. The guy had an ideal life. R. I. P.

"Liberals have made this country so ill-mannered and crass, and—oh wait, excuse me for a moment—TRUMP THAT BITCH!"