Yeah, it’s probably adequately covered by the existing “etc.”

Is that Christian Bale?

Being unfamiliar with New York, I thought I’d ask: is 74th Street between First and York where one would expect to have a bag of poop shoved down one’s shorts?

I will squirt anything Mrs. Fart_Joke (My_Marriage_Is_a_Fart_Joke?) leaves in the shower on my head. My hair is not long for this world, so I want to pack it’s few remaining years with different experiences. I don’t know if this behavior has improved my relationship.

Because it’s for boys, of course. (Or because it has the same active ingredient as Windex. Either way: it’s important that it be blue.)

If I were a fashion designer, I’d be aghast at the suggestion that I couldn’t come up with an attractive outfit for a tall person in less than five months. What an indictment of my abilities that would be.

This list just goes on and on:

Fun fact: apparently, the cliche of slipping on banana peels is a relic of old film censorship rules. They couldn’t show the piles of horse shit that people were actually slipping on in the streets back then (when horses were a fixture on the public thoroughfare), so they had to find a censor-friendly substitute. How…

Texas women : Hair :: I : Cake

That’s why I never eat a banana in the car. If you hit a bump and it goes off accidentally, suddenly you’re cleaning Marvin’s brains off the roof liner.

Her eyebrow game is so on point.

I was going to ask: is the contestant in the picture wearing a swimsuit or athletic wear? Because I honestly can’t tell. (Also, have they photoshopped the whites of her eyes out or our the super contestants of the future going to be human/shark hybrids, as the Bachelorette seems to indicate?)

Still too expensive.

Not to be one of those obnoxious lifehacking types always going on about how you can shaves seconds off your shower routine with these ten quick tips or whatever, but if you’re going for efficiency, you should adopt my approach: I fist lo mein into my mouth. (For further guidance, see, e.g., videos of an one-year-old…

Speaking only for myself, but there is no condition, flexed or flaccid, in which my thighs could ever be described as hard. At maximum flex, they could be generously described as, at best, thigh-shaped.

It took me far too long to figure out what thigh high tights are. I imagined something drop-crotchy, like wearing children’s leggings with the waist only hitting you mid-thigh. But now that I finally figured out what they are, it’s clear that they’re an even more impractical article of clothing.

It’s important to remind people that a protest vote for Trump and a sincere vote for Trump are indistinguishable in the vote count.

Yes. The opposite of Tinkerbell’s life being contingent on our belief. (Or maybe not: maybe Tinkerbell would have dropped dead out of a clear blue sky if everyone ignored her for five minutes. She was super needy when you think about it.)

Thanks! And: sorry! Most people with type of relationship with me find it painful.

Although isn’t a scorching summer in England only something like seventy degrees? (Fahrenheit, of course; Celsius is nonsense.)