An otter dropped a toaster right into my grandmother’s bathtub. Hand to God.

Nice going, editing your comment. Except, since you seemed just like that sort of asshole:

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh maybe THAT was acknowledged in the first fucking sentence of the article.

My takeaway from this is that even conservatives don’t want to fuck other conservatives. I mean, why are they fussing about liberals not wanting to fuck them? Stay in your unkind lane.

I pity the doctor of this yellowed toe blister with teeth that has to see him with his shirt off. I have to assume he showers occasionally, or they run him through some sort of disreputable car wash; is he unconscious when it happens? I mean, he’s seen his own putrefying body, right?

1. ERRBODY GET OUTTA MY WAY BEN WHISHAW IS ONSCREEN I SAID LOOK OUT

She and Keenan are highly effective sketch medicine.

If you have Netflix access, it’s Season 10, episode 22.

He also shone in a bittersweet episode of Frasier, playing Hester Crane’s (Martin’s deceased wife) former lab partner. Martin comes to believe, based on Stiers’ character’s interests and general fussiness, that Stiers might really be his sons’ biological father, compelling the Stiers character to out himself. He…

When I was a kid, sometimes my mom would force me to accompany her to the grocery store. As soon as she’d wander from the cart to look at meat, I’d get even by lining the entire child seat with beef tongues, and then tell her they were “her little babies” while she freaked out.

You’re right-handed, with an oily T-zone, thinning hair that’s inclined to be dry, and your right foot is a half size bigger than your left. You tend to wear dark colors, are a cautious driver, and spicy foods make you sweat. You hate yogurt.

I watched the Cloverfield Paradox primarily because of the OMG CHANGING HOW MOVIES ARE RELEASED hype, and consequently, couldn’t be fooled again, and avoided Bright entirely. It’ll take a lot to get me past being burned once, even if the content was “free.”

Mike “Let Me Admonish You” Pence.

“The Bachelor: Don’t Be Sore.”

An all-singing, all-dancing, all-herpes Extravaganza.

Honestly, I just assumed you’d had pasta for lunch.

President Fife.

The Universe: “No thank you.”