“President Trump might be able to tweet whatever comes to mind, but he can’t grant himself new authority because he feels like it.”

She is the Michael Scott of the WH press room.

Do it. DOOOOO ITTTTTTTTTT.

I do not want to go to the home that is pictured here, in general. There will be no comfortable seating, they will be really passive-aggressive conversationally, and every room will be lit like a Friday night football field. I guarantee you that that floor lamp is a halogen torchiere, purchased at a garage sale, and…

Except he fits the power abuse dynamic: in his interviews he was a terrible interrupter/mansplainer/over-talker. Control freak, constantly reasserting dominance. So the sex part is pretty much an (admittedly disgusting) afterthought.

I am curious to know what percentage of your readers believe they will live to the age of eighty. It seems either delusionally optimistic or really indicative of true privilege to suppose so.

If you didn’t get my email address here, try messaging me on twitter, where I’m also mwittier.

When I can order genial, enlightened, reasonable family members in the same box, lemme know.

I bought this coop two years ago, but have never bought chickens to live in it because I have the desire to travel occasionally and haven’t figured out how to reconcile that with ownership of needy birds.

I’d love to be ungreyed, but if possible please leave a little at the temples. I want to seem distinguished.

Forehead Never Nudes.

The hate would smell fresher. Some of these old bastards are as farted up as a frat house sofa.

Julienne. It’s festive, and we can make crook slaw.

Like “Dr. Bill Cosby”?

I still agree.

I agree.

This is what I do at parties.

I guarantee, no one, not one person in the entire world likes you.

Awww, never be ashamed to be knowledgeable. That’s not dumb, it’s just esoteric, and I appreciate the explanation. Now siddown, I’ma tell you all about Edwardian mourning jewelry. : )