Irony 101: Once they unionize, though, they deserve nothing good. I’m sad that Ricketts was allowed to deprive them of no more than their jobs. A unionized employee is no different than a burglar caught red-handed in a man’s living room at night, holding his TV ... and deserves no better treatment.

Of course that’s what he did. And I admire him for doing so: seldom has a “fuck you” been so richly warranted.

And “them,” for unions, includes anyone interested in putting in an honest day’s work without their highly questionable help.

Good for Ricketts. I hope that every single waste of carbon at DNAinfo and Gothamist who voted to unionize gets to explore the wonders of starvation at length, along with their families.

I doubt that any single one was designed to turn an individual’s vote, or to have some discrete effect. They were designed to be a numbing, crappy, inescapable background noise, to create a feeling of ubiquitous idiocy & unreason ... to seed a generalized, low-level despair of politics and one’s fellow citizens. To…

Welp ... one way or the other, and however way you cut it, she’s calamitously out of my league. Whomever she’s into, I lift my glass to you, you inhumanly lucky bastard.

All those 8-period ellipses and multiple exclamation points ... reading it, I can almost smell something like an overclocked Pentium.

The Islamists call him “Abu Hamam.” This is a bad hombre, people.

I believe you mean by the TV show Wiseguy. (Though, come to think of it, that character was even pervier.)

Hey, now: I’m mediocre and it hasn’t worked for me yet.

Richardson’s horribleness comes across as a weird sort of George Costanza-grade bluff. I can picture industry people reasoning: “He must be good at what he does if he thinks he can get away with being this terrible.”

I don’t even like people looking at me while I’m clothed and eating shrimp. They’re mine. They’re delicious, and they’re all mine.

What can I say? I like her.

No, drinking can really change you ... though how, exactly, varies from person to person. (Given what even one drunken misadventure can do to ones life, I’m probably blessed to be a depressed, self-pitying, introverted drunk.)

* Cash’s music was never youth-oriented, and was never considered weird or unseemly for artists of any age to engage in.

Eventually, all we Atlantans have that “Sweet Christ, I’ve got to get out of here” moment.

“How does the guy know about any of these people and their actions? Other than by listening to Jughead’s voice-over, that is.”

Now I’m gonna be hearing Burgess Meredith’s Penguin laugh for the rest of the night.

Sharing my fears on the Internet? I see no way on Earth this could possibly go wrong.

Damn skippy. Boobs didn’t just grow on trees back then, you little ingrates.