This seems like the definition of what my wife refers to as “house poor.” I’ll take my $700/month mortgage payment, TYVM.

I love her. That is all.

Firing up my Pontiac Grand Prix is a daily experience. It’s paid for, and I plan on keeping it until the wheels fall off.

Just found this article. My money was on “foot slips under mower, narrowly avoids amputation” all the way.

I went out pub-crawling with my nephew and his wife one Saint Pat’s Saturday—and one of the pubs featured a wedding party. A couple decided to get married on an amateur’s drinking holiday. 

A matte black Urus just made my Christmas wish list.

Greatest faceplant ever. 

Seriously. My jaw hit me in the chest.

My daughter and I saw the trailer a few weeks ago. I was reminded of Roger Ebert’s plaintive, “Why do they still make movies like this?” the whole time the trailer was on-screen.

I love you, Modus, but this ain’t no Ron Burgundy, here.

+1 spelling bee.

“JUMPED ON BED - TOOTHBRUSH WAS ON BED AND WENT UP PATIENT’S RECTUM”

+ One more thing...

The man needs two hands to bring a water bottle to his lips properly. His greatest fear in life is stairs. No way he has the reflexes to dodge a shoe.

More like “Night of the Living Dead (Rockets).”

Are you asking for a friend?

This is how they caught Aldrich Ames spying for the Russians years ago--living above his means. He and his wife bought a house for about half a million dollars and paid cash for it.

“Yes. YES. YESSSSSS.”

Pretty sure the rail system at Disney’s Orlando parks is already more efficient than this.

Trump boi.