When I was in middle school, circa Scream II, it was very in vogue to write elaborate short stories about all your friends getting murdered by a serial killer, with yourself as the Final Girl. Writing the “coolest” death for your friend was a high compliment. I hope these kids are just having the same gristly impulse,…

I try not to take advice about education from the ineducable. It’s “you’re,” babydoll.

Yeah, I try not to think about the latter verses. 

Or y’all could do one better and get rid of the gross nationalist exceptionalist singing of “God Bless America” at sports altogether.

I’ll just be over here holding my breath.

NO. You have invented Be Worst egg. >:{

Man I’m just trying to make it work on time, I need a cheese that will melt under the egg, not something I have to preheat the broiler for

For me the magnitude of the bad time dictates whether I’ll tell people about it. That time I got appalling food poisoning in Bali? I hope you’re ready for the blow-by-blow! That time I got sexually assaulted while traveling solo in Istanbul? Uh...yeah, the food was really nice in Turkey. 

Uh, actually, in order for it to be a Be Best egg, they’ll need to crack it and fry it in a little butter, then serve it on a Kaiser roll with a slice of tomato and American cheese. 

That sounds insanely stressful. What if you break it, or it wakes up and speaks with the voice of an eldritch horror, or it grows older and you have to explain global warming?

God damn bait-and-switch Golden Company. 

Aww, that’s nice. 

Why the fuck does anybody have kids? It seems like the *best* parts of parenting are sheer drudgery, and the baseline is terror, exhaustion, misery, and self-loathing.

I know this is a very out-there pick, but I would love to see Archie Panjabi as Bond. She’s got unpredictable steel eyes down pat, she looks amazing in formalwear, and she could definitely play a pansexual womanizer. 

Just on the strength of this argument, I have posthumously awarded her my Second Place ribbon in cross stitch (10-16 age group) from the Pima County Fair. 

Gold Fame Citrus is easily one of the best post-apocalyptic novels I’ve ever read — I’d class it with the Maddaddam trilogy.

It is also a not-insignificant factor in my decision never to have children. I know I can’t protect them from the horrors that are coming. 

I think no matter what anyone thinks about this season—and I don’t mean to sound mean about critics here—but whatever critic spends half an hour writing about this season and makes their [negative] judgement on it, in my head they can go fuck themselves.

Maybe he was just really into dead women’s hair. 

Hah, definitely not! The smell of bundaegi is an indelible memory. 

Perhaps it was a fad when I was there? I haven’t been in six or seven years. 

Dark!