You know what, maybe I’m inured. But at this point, a celebrity movie star whose work I mostly enjoy, says some not-too-bright, self-unaware things, and I’m like, meh, at least he’s doesn’t have the IRL nuclear launch codes. Or can destroy the world with a tweet. You do you, Pratt. At this point I’d take this…

Does anyone go anywhere that they are not asked to be scent-free anymore? I would love to wear perfume, but all the places I go ask me not to wear any scents.

Does anyone go anywhere that they are not asked to be scent-free anymore? I would love to wear perfume, but all the…

I don’t understand why this woman is famous. She dresses weird and runs a boring magazine with more ads than editorial pages.

So here’s my personal little quasi-brush with having to witness an execution:

This post is satire by humor writer Alexandra Petri

The more I hear and see Emma Watson the less I like her.

Hey Bobby, where do watermelons go in the summer? Answer: John Cougar’s Meloncamp. Carry on.

I have it on good authority that if you touch a woman three times on her elbow, poke her left thigh once, then lick her right earlobe, she squirts.

I’m surprised Kim didn’t channel “Paris” by being tied up in a bathtub.

If it’s an extremely humid day, sometimes I’ll put Gold Bond Medicated Powder on my balls. It keeps things dry, yes, but so would talcum powder. The reason men use Gold Bond, and which Gold Bond can never publicly advertise, is that it feels cool and tingly and wonderful on your junk.