He was a Xavier puppet, no more no less. Anything Chuck couldn't tell him how to do, he was a blubbering mess (Jean, Jean, Madelyne and Jean again).

Those glasses scream Tampa. 1998 till forever.

Which was always going to be the case. It's also why proper stewards Claremont (and Shooter) never tried to overdo the Logan shit in Uncanny.

What? Cyclops was an irrelevant cipher until Chris Claremont gave him some pathos.

Millenials can't even steward themselves out of mommy and daddy's house, let alone steward popular culture…

In SF, where fast food isn't as prevalent as in other, more rotund cities, I enjoy a nosh at McDonalds now and then. It's obscure, exotic fare in a sea of bland, gormless brunch spots, tapas eateries, overpriced food truck annoyances and whatever prix fixe shithole is the new spot du jour in town.

From Adrian Lyne, to David Fincher, to TATE TAYLOR???

The bonafides are in place, dammit.

And interminable brunch lines. BRUNCH!

Sean Young is the Q-36 explosive space modulator

I just stood and delivered.

What would I give to be her
Joyride, daddy-o, tonight

No, just that album was awful.

Bonafides in order!

Whip-Smart is whipsmart.

especially when she commits the apparent sin of inconsistency.

MMMM, FERD. DERLICIOUS

Homer Simpson, Smiling Politely.

wetwork consisting of destaining old couches.

Steak knife - there's a hole in my head
Steak knife - you're gonna be dead
Steak knife - it's a heavy change
Steak knife - say goodbye to your brain