He must have one hell of a Nationwide policy that pays off only if he’s crippled on an NFL field.

One can only hope that on their wedding day traffic is so massively tied up that none of their guests arrive and they miss their entire reception (but still have to pay for it).

It’s super easy.

A mid-2000s Buick, inspected every month by a qualified mechanic, with a 62mph governor installed, then festooned with “Ask Me About my Grandchildren” and “Follow Me to the Lee Greenwood Concert” bumper stickers, and driven by a well-paid elderly couple who can’t afford their medicine.

I feel bad for the people who told me “high school years are the best times of your life” because, for them, it was probably true.

The one nugget of pure gold in the shitcano that was the 2015 Phillies was them dumping Papelbon on the Nats.

Chip won’t get fired (this year, at least) — Jeff Lurie is a lot of things, but he’s not a guy who pulls the trigger too fast on coaches, as the 145,872 empty KFC buckets piled up under Andy Reid’s office window clearly demonstrated.

The real banana is going extinct anyway.

If you’re thinking about your long-term lawn-Camaro-owning prospects the best NFL coach stepdad would be Andy Reid. You’d never have to worry about missing curfew because he can’t read a fucking clock.

Tom Coughlin would be the worst stepdad of all time. He’d make The Great Santini look like Uncle Buck.

I have the worst of both worlds: I used to be an EMT so I have to administer all the kid’s medicines (as if the ability to put a bandage on someone’s cut and then drive fast to a shitty rural hospital somehow turned me into Chief of Emergency Surgery at Johns Hopkins today), but then my wife second-guesses me…

I always wondered if they shipped the cars totally dry so none of the internal fluids would leak out while being held in that position and with that legendary 70’s GM build quality, or if they just said “Fuck it” and every rail line leading out of Detroit was a toxic blast of oil, gas, anti-freeze and tears of…

Who’s driving the Station Wagon at the end, Charlie? WHO’S DRIVING THE WAGON? All the grown-ups are gone to Carousel.

Indoor whistlers should be instantly executed and sent directly to the wing of hell where the “Small Wonder” marathon never ends, the warm Budweiser Clamato-Boysenberry-A-Ritas are bottomless, and the octo-penised rapenocerous never runs out of Cialis.