I’m just here to tell Jim Spanfeller, Paul Maidment and the rest of the cowards to get fucked.

Stick to *checks notes* “slots.”

Man, I love people who self-own through being hilariously inept. You know, pumpkin thieves, thin-skinned vulture capitalist owners of blog sites, those kinds of folks.

You get a star, but only if you are referring to the physics of fluid dynamics and not poop.

Probably some arcane CBA rule no one ever knew about that nets them a compensatory draft pick in perpetuity.

I prefer Anal Shit Into Wagons.

Apropos of almost nothing here, I noticed tonight that Houston Astros can be rearranged as “Out soon: sharts.”

If anyone is interested in seeing some secret videos of me in my kitchen eating corn, talking about corn and talking to corn, I've uploaded them to corn hub. Check them out before they get taken down.

For the people who don’t get it:

I’d love to see this play with commentary by Richard Attenborough:

Oh so its funny when they fall off the wagon, but not when I do?

Still suffering major knee damage? Colin Kaepernick. 

But c’mon, this is Canada.

I’ve developed an in depth headcanon for the Nationals postseason run that has escalated to them being aided by an army of spectral Expos repaying their debts to their baseball kin they failed before they can find their rest.

If only I could have 36 pacesetters, bicyclists with drinks and protein, and a pace car with lasers, I think I could get out of bed in 1:59.40. 

Under optimal conditions, our goal is to see if we can get this person out of bed in under two hours, to see if it’s even humanly possible.

Me and this guy share 99.9% of our DNA. It took me two hours to get out of bed.

I hope he’s convicted.  I can only imagine the penalty if it were a hand in the box.

This is the rarest of takes: spicy, AND correct!

Maybe he should have disguised it as a United States Treasury bond.