Holey fuck! He’s slowly walking up the stairs after me!

I use Netscape because it supports frames and the blink tag. IE 2.0 sucks ass. 

He’ll be eternally murdering Odin in Valhalla now.

This bugs the fuck out of me. I discovered the Gawker blog family through Deadspin around ten years ago, and I was amazed at quality of the comments across all the sites, as well as the lack of trolls. A sports site filled with hardly any racist, sexist, idiots? Sign me up!

In this case, I believe these are called claspers, not dick and balls.

If I were good with the gifs, I’d give it this treatment.

No. Any responsible small child would have convinced his parents to move to some place more desirable. Like Bakersfield.

The good news is that emissions don’t affect the ozone layer, and my calculations show that if we can get enough people doing sweet burnouts we can block enough sunlight to offset global warming. It’s science.

It makes sense when you see their new road jerseys.

Finally a salad shooter worthy of the name. They’ll have to rename the old one something more appropriate, like the Salad Impotent Vomiter.

I’m hoping this turns out to be a scene for scene space remake of The Karate Kid. Wax droid! Sand People!

He was a stupid teenager and a Mets fan. It was also the second game of a doubleheader that went 23 innings, so I imagine everyone who stuck it out was a little loopy near the end. We’re Puerto Rican  (I’m actually from Cepeda’s home town), so I’m going to rule out racism. So 2 and 4, I guess.

Extra innings are how the poor people get good seats. Without extra innings my dear departed father would not have been close enough to hit Orlando Cepeda in the head with a hot dog bun. Imagine how history could have been changed if things had played out differently on that fateful night in 1964.

Actual British people who think that makes it OK for them to talk like British people are the worst. They were everywhere when I lived in England.

Somebody should post a video of the making of these videos set to Yakety Sax.

Umm. Suicide doors on Rolls Royces are referred to as regicide doors. Peasant.

I’ve replaced my headlights with scented candles and little parabolic mirrors I made from discarded soup can bottoms. You literally cannot tell from the stock headlights.

Have you swum with Synalpheus pinkfloydi while watching The Wizard of Oz? It’s trippy, man.

Barreled ball? How crude. I myself use the much more dignified “firkin fuckin’”.

No, but if we’re invaded, they should be forced to attack the enemy. The confused look on Grandma’s face as she barrels into a battalion of Canadians would be priceless.