It’s a figuratively shitty magazine for my literally shitty moments.

Story checks out...

Just clean up after yourself.

You know what... move all 32 teams to LA. I don’t care. Just let the players smoke weed and wear fun cleats and celebrate touchdowns.

This whole thing is so goddamn stupid.

I know someone has mentioned this to you before but if you don’t start a family band called The Funklets, you have truly failed us all.

Or maybe they are at home with the kids while mom goes to the March? Like my husband-someone’s gotta take one for the team.

Why are you limiting it to 15 years?

Or you’re at Arby’s

“If everyone around you is angry, then you’re the asshole.”

Somebody needs to get this delicate flower into a safe space.

Dude needs a hobby.

Which is exactly why the Democratic National Committee will fail to capitalize on it.

I tell ya, nothing says “baseball” like watching a 3-hour game and then heading out at 10:30 pm into the 108 degree Phoenix night for the 45 minute drive back to Chandler.

Samir. Samir Nahh-gon-work-here-anymore.

I heard YaYa Toure got a pudding drip at the same clinic

So this is where the buck stops.