Pot. That's prolly the cause of all this sloppy shitty reporting. Pot, and meth. Mostly meth.

If you see it purely as a percentage then yes, it's exorbitant. But in actual real dollars, or rather in actual real cents… big whoop!

Well, two of them are plagiarized from the 3rd, and the 4th is mostly the product of an encounter with some bad seafood; a feverish delusion.

Like Brittle Rock all too accurately describes the condition of my current erection. I've got a medical affliction which my doctor has described as Porcelain Penis. Neat, huh?!

"Skyrocketing" cost from $2 to $2.50… Melodramatic much, Barzanti?!

The "N" word is not now, nor was it then some sacrosanct, untouchable taboo word, but rather was and is a perhaps controversial and tricky expression whose most common usage has now fortunately assumed a much more innocuous and harmless intent—assuming, of course, that it's being used colloquially, figuratively, or…

Even more than the mirror? Wow!

I know, right.

Amtrack tickets are absolutely, positively transferable. Just wtf are you trying to pull on us? Or she on you?!!!

And attended by, you know… Morons!

WTF?! Oh, divorce. Yeah, people seem to enjoy hurling themselves into absurdly impossible, outrageously doomed situations. People? Ha!

Mel Brooks' unequalled genius is above and beyond the pedestrian, tedious concerns which might afflict and diminish a more average, normal and unremarkable human. Mel handled himself impeccably, perfectly, superhumanly. He's hysterical, regardless.

Yeppers.

"He's just crazy enough to do it!"

Upvoted for eventual recognition of absurdly idiotic confusion over Dikachu's desperately maudlin, melodramatically trite expression of disappointment. Ha!

You Vedder, You Vedder, You Vet - Pete Townsend

If the ominous howl of his preternaturally bass vocals don't convince you of the imposing gravitas of Mr. Vedder's art, then perhaps the sight of his well worn, prosaic corduroys will.

A wrecking ball, huh? Oh jeez, I hate to imagine what Miley Cyrus' fast approaching and most likely absurdly comical death is gonna do to ya. No, I don't hate to imagine it. I relish it. Yoink!

Evidence?! What is this, a criminal trial?! How dare you violate the sanctity of my personal delusions with your paltry, puny legalese. The nerve. The audacity! The cromulence!!

It's just possible that the form and mode of what we call "consciousness" merely transforms into something else—something alien and unimaginable?!—with the loss of our physical, material self. The biological characteristics and behavioral attributes which we identify as a person—an individual with a distinct, unique…