Armando Iannucci stopped doing the show after season 4 so it suffers from the loss of his command of the absurdly harsh put down. It takes a sensitive touch to properly script a relentless torrent of intense vulgarities; a rare & special talent.

Well, he's in no Heaven that I'd wanna go to, anyhow.

Okey dokey, sure, sure, but I'm an ENIAC man. If it ain't broke don't upgrade it, I always say.

The Bob Welch era was the band's peak creative moment. Just consider the multitude of extraordinarily superior compositions dating from that period. Why I can name literally, um, er… one song from that that golden era. Yeah, one song that's worthy of recognition from the Bob Welch fronted iteration of Fleetwood Mac.…

If you actually listen to the lyrics of the song—in the context of the speaker's considerably stressed emotional state—then those Nah Nahs take on a more ironic or even subversive tone. Q.E.D.

Right to your big fat moon pie face, brah.

I think you've it all wrong. There's a very definite ambiguity to the song, a playful duality. The nah nahs can just as rightly be heard as his friends—and enemies—mocking him. You know, like Nelson's iconic "Ha ha."

Those are two of the most disturbing, gruesome words ever placed next to one another: found dead. Jeesh. RIP

RIGGED!! FAKE GRADES!! Sad!!!

No, that blundering boob was sent across that time travelling pedestrian overpass to a dark and distant past when men—and some women!—actually walked places and would have possibly used a pedestrian overpass, had it existed. Irony? No. Progress!!

They won't drop the ball, no way. But they'll definitely cram that impetuous ball chock full of highly volatile C4 plastic explosive, coat it in a thick, viscous impasto of ultra saturated irony, and casually lob it into our overly eager, perhaps naively trusting laps and then watch contentedly as it blasts to bloody,…

You sad silly humans are soooooooooo hung up on grades. You're absurdly, tragically fixated upon the awards, accolades, approbation, approval and recognition as expressed as the arbitrary, random, subjective, inconsequential, insignificant, trivial and worthless judgments of others of your kind. Get over it, sheeple,…

Saturday afternoon drinking really is the best of all the afternoon drinkings. I'm also partial to the Sunday morning drinking, as well as the Wednesday early evening drinking. In fact, drinking at virtually any hour of the day or night is OK with me. I gotta say, I'm a fan of drinking while breathing, drinking while…

I've got good news. That gum you like is going to come back into style… What, wrong time?

Semens reasonable.

"We present this award for a truly superlative, kickass career as hard rockin' muthah fukahz to Pearl Jam, with eyes wide open." *Nickleback rushes the stage, grabs the mic and cries that they're better than Creed, dammit*

Nonsense!

I believe you're thinking of General Lee, specifically, the General Lee, of Duke's of Hazzard fame, which certainly was a pitifully insensitive celebration of antebellum Southern depravity, and ought never again be mentioned in polite company or otherwise.

What a trouper, standing in for Joe Hill.

See, the problem here is that he's comparing apples and oranges, or more accurately, apples and apple pie. Anyone who's anyone knows that flank steak is a particular cut of beef from a specific area of the animal—the mid to lower abdomen region—and is a relatively flavorful, better grade cut of beef, whereas London…