If Jessica Mendoza had been at the Benghazi consulate...

This is some quality “premium” beer. Michelob Ultra? Smirnoff Ice? At least they have the Blue Moon where it belongs.

“Hit it!”

I always knew NFL owners were patriarchal and unfriendly to workers, but they’re paying them like old mine company owners, in scrip?

More people would have voted for Sosa, except they just couldn’t find him.

Contrary to expectations, he’s a softy, not at all stiff or dirty.

A lot of zip in that turn! You can tell he’s a former receivers coach.

Sad that this needs to be written. Rickey Henderson, jesus. Career .401 OBP in the leadoff position (.380 in 2900 first inning plate appearances).

That’s more a Peyton thing.

“I mean, listen, I’ll agree with you, The Kid is Hall-of-Fame-worthy. But is he first ballot wor....” shoots self in head.

We can all laugh at BartLOLo, but the man is going to get paid $7.25 million dollars this coming season to throw baseballs, by a front office that seems to know what they’re doing.

I don’t feel like doing the whole thing, but...

You know what the apotheosis of multiple text message annoyance is? Your wife sending. You. A. Grocery. List. One. Text. At. A. Time. Bananas.

I have a question for you: Is a hot dog an elite? How far can it punt a foosball?

Are we talking old-ass Washington, post-presidency, kicking it in Mount Vernon? Or, you know, that bad ass motherfucker that led a bunch of pissant disaffected colonials to defeat the most powerful army in the world? Because that Washington would be up and googling interracial porn faster than you can say Thomas…

Blue Rondo, at that.

Not the creator of this fine image, but I cosign.

Anything that can make an NFL game less like watching a documentary on the Zapruder film seems hunky dory. Back and to the left. Back and to the left.

Sarah Doin’ Kobe Doin’ Work?

“Please don’t let this investigative series turn out to be contemplation about the nature of truth.”—Mike Pesca, on Season 1.