Mark Millar is an awful, ugly writer. His success irritates me to no end.

Well, uh, there it is.

No, let’s fight more!!!!

I mean, different strokes and all that, but Shatner’s delivery places it firmly in the realm of ironic kitsch, and makes it just an overproduced, catchy sounding song disconnected from its lyrics. How one could reasonably describe Jarvis Cocker’s style as “whiny” utterly baffles me.

I never thought I’d say a Shatner cover was superior to an original

My spoiler-free pitch: It’s some of the most elegantly realized world building (reconfiguring?) I’ve encountered, blending theme with narrative in an extremely satisfying way. It embraces genre convention without descending into cliché, and it has a terrific central conceit.

You’ve reminded me that Mount Char has been sitting on my shelf since it was released.

I want everyone to read Guy Gavriel Kay’s Tigana, but I don’t want them to know anything about it before reading it. It’s a difficult bit of evangelism to pull off.

I get that, but it’s also a dumb reason for watching the most aggressively irritating show ever produced, and continuing to obsess over it decades later.

Or Hepatitis C.

That’s a weird conclusion to draw.

Saved by the Bell was an atrocious show on virtually every level, and my generation’s nostalgic obsession annoys me far more than it should.

A. It may have been sarcasm – I hope it was – but it wasn’t obviously so. And if it was, he ought to do better. In the age of “snowflakes,” “cucks,” “soyboys,” etc, it reads like all the other retrograde internet nonsense I see every day. We’re on Kinja, for crying out loud. This place attracts racists and misogynists…

That must be why Harold and Maude doesn’t exist.

A cab screeches to a halt. The driver leans out his window. “Hey, pal! Ha ha! Only in New York!” Honk!

He looks like a cancer-ridden Make-A-Wish kid who somehow gamed the system.

Are the New Yorks like characters in the story?

9021-Oh, shit.

It looks like the ghost of Matthew Modine is trying to force its way into our world through Jason Mewes’ face.

Slow clap.