Oh, I know. I was yelling at my television as he said that, “SHOW ME, ON YOUR GODDAM PHONE, HOW YOU ACCESS THE CONSERVATIVE WISDOM YOU THINK NEEDS DEFENSE.”

My mind boggles at what it must be like for the staff of the dinosaur politicians who probably don’t use email to prep them for these yell-at-tech-I-don’t-understand sessions.

Ah, could have Googled that, but thanks.

Shut the front door! There’s a Good Place podcast? Name, please?

That last story, jesus. I wonder if Mr. White Power would be feeling that confident at a Falcons game in Atlanta.

This show is great, but I’ve got to admit 20% of my enjoyment this year is being reminded that things used to suck even more and progress is possible, even if it seems incremental to a person living in that time.

“That’s why I took the form of a middle-aged white man, I can only fail upward.” Oh, Good Place, come back soon.

. . . And it’ll be a “public/private” partnership; so, 80% funded by tax-payers and the rest kicked in by a for-profit prison company that has a not-so-secret interest in maintaining institutional racism.

I must have listed to this and Aquemini like a million times.

It was my poverty of imagination, that I thought: Huh, I wonder how they got defibrillators through Legal. 

And the nurse in last night’s episode was working in a methadone clinic. But that’s what I was thinking, that a party pill and a clinic don’t really reflect how pervasive it is in these small towns. If it was more present, that would do more for me to believe anyone staying in a town which seems to have a motto of Welc…

I feel like if this series was more interested in accurate portrayals, there’d be a lot more opioids involved.

In the early 2000's, I was dating someone who went to Alabama who invited me to a party put on by the alumni association. I showed up and found out the theme was “Antebellum Days” and—coincidentally—every single server was a black man in tails and white gloves. I’m from Atlanta and even at 20 knew this shit was wrong.…

Aw, I read your review and it made me rethink my initial reaction which was to say, out loud, to my empty living room, “What the fuck?!? John?!?” I thought Brendan basically presented his heart in pastry form and was NOT ready for him not to be crowned King Baker. You know for the rest of his life, he would have found…

And a gold star family. This shit is bananas.

I’m a Caroline, I feel your pain.

Ah, cool! Glad you saw this. If you listen close, you hear Ms. Franklin changed the lyrics to “I’m Eleanor Rigby . . .” So next time you introduce yourself and some goof says, “Oh, like the song—“ interrupt with, “Where the Queen of Soul says, ‘I’m Eleanor’? Why, yes. Yes it is.”

I’ve always loved her cover of Eleanor Rigby. She sings it like she’s pissed that world has so many lonely people. It’s like it needs to be played the beginning of anti-loneliness rally (yeah, I dunno what that would look like, either) to rile everyone up.

Sometimes I think we need a secret meeting of women and we need to hash it out, have deep discussions and take a deep breath and admit: someone is going to have to fuck him. Whoever that brave martyr is, we will send her off with hymns of heroism and tears in our eyes and think, “We will raise a statue in her honor…

We were all fucking mystified by his round em up to the border ads? What border is this dumbass talking about?? Florida?!? I will be using every ounce of my white privilege to slide into the neighborhoods of Cobb County, to canvas for Stacy Abrams.