... and out comes polka music.

I used to hang out with some pals and sometimes we’d go to movies and sometimes to Chinese restaurants. OMG, I think ‘Seinfeld’ stole my life! It was Chicago, not New York, and it wasn’t three guys and a girl, it was three guys and three girls... Hold it, it wasn’t ‘Seinfeld,’ it was ‘Friends!’ Shit, someone owes me…

With all due respect Batperson, for a person who has never seen or indeed heard of waffles, comparing their pattern to the treads on running shoes would be approximately as helpful as comparing the pattern to that of solar panels on the International Space Station.

College Attorney to male sex partner: “Tell me what you said and what she said.” There follows a description of moans and physicality that every juror recognizes. Summing up the evidence later, “Are we to allow this woman who... [reads description of moans from transcript] to besmirch the good name of this fine…

Miss AR, once the oppressive attorneys for the College can depose the subsequent sexual partners they’ll use whatever they collect to attempt to show that the victim either (a) had several partners so she couldn’t have been that traumatized, and/or (b) that she apparently enjoyed the couplings (as any male partner…

The waffle conversation reminds me of the challenge to describe an accordion without using your hands. How DO you describe a waffle without invoking the waffle iron?

Reading only this article and none of the pleadings, the College might get the information about the victim’s subsequent sexual partners because this is indeed relevant to whether or to what degree her interest in sex has been diminished, and the victim did open the door to that question. But earlier? The question of…

The problem is then it’s 15 days in jail for the ‘groom’ because the judge then says, “Okay, I was overturned. 15 days.” Slam. That’s the thing with ‘alternative’ sentencing — wearing a humiliating sign, even community service — the sentencing judge crafts it so that the defendant is actually choosing it over the more…

Before I married my wife she came to me furious about yet another asshole roommate. It led her to the insight that when vetting a roommate, “If they complain that there were too many rules at their last place, they’re going to be a problem.”

Hard to believe that such a shrewd, well thought out plan didn’t work. “And I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those rotten kids.”

The officials had to do this because otherwise pretty soon every team might have a girl (or girls!!) on their team and after that it’s just a short step to pedophiles marrying their underage pets.

As someone not a lot younger than the Prince I regretfully point out that he only qualifies as ‘middle-aged’ if he expects to live to 135.

Obviously this raises a lot of questions: Had your face been drinking? How was your face dressed? Had your face been leading him on? Why didn’t your face report it immediately? Did your face actually like it? Wasn’t it just your face’s morning-after regret?

I’ve seen people eat chicken salad with cheese, I’ve even seen it *offered* pre-made in cafeterias, but no. I like most chicken salads, I like most cheeses, hell, I like chocolate too for that matter, but these things SHOULD NOT BE MIXED.

It seemed to me that the victim’s *second* fall was harder and more certainly indicated the likelihood of a concussion. And, if we needed any more evidence of the douchelike nature of the perp, notice that he’s still trying to move to the beat as he’s dragging the victim to her feet each time.

Is that Michael Richards (“Kramer”) manning the hose?

The instant marker for a loudmouth know-it-all is the phrase, “I know for a fact that...” While it’s true that one can know for a fact that, say, the sun rises in the east, people who use this phrase do so out of habit and expand their list of ‘known facts’ to include opinions, such as, “I know for a fact that you’ll…

My variation of that is, “You know where it is.”

The collar is beautiful. You — and your Dad — should be proud in a whole bunch of ways. The closest I ever come to tatting in real life is as a three-letter word in a crossword puzzle. Congatulations.

Makes sense. Every six-year old is fascinated by the sexual anxiety of middle aged (or elderly) NY Jewish men.