All my entreaties to my beloved team (I a was a fan of the very interested sub-.500 team who made it to the 1981 Finals) in the last few years has been for good things not to happen because they’d prolong the inevitable collapse of Daryl “Chemistry is for Classrooms” Morey’s technocratic reign.

At least something good came out of this, America’s new slogan is “Where The Fuck Is My Gun?” replacing “E Pluribus Unum”

“And now to drop the ceremonial first puck... Dick Allen”

When he brought Josh Smith back, I could swear he was needling the owner to see if anybody above him was actually paying attention

They really didn’t play all that well in the playoffs, just had a miraculous run against the even-more-disappointing Clippers (they lost their three games against the Clips by 16, 25, and 33) before getting stomped badly by the Warriors.

I checked in on the box score (watching the Rockets infuriates me) and after the team saying “we need to get Dwight the ball,” he had no shots in the first 11 minutes. I’m pissed that they made the playoffs, the four games they have to play take away from time they could be using to fire Daryl Morey and start anew.

Add “got where they are because of Daddy, have issues resulting therefrom”

This could be his finest effort since Night Nurse (1931)

Whatever the trailer promises, Welcome to My Life is just 90 minutes of footage from Mike Tyson’s Punch Out

That’s why they call him Mr. October (April: not so hot)

That’s not a court-ordered public service announcement... THIS is a court-ordered public service announcement (shows Jacko talking about anti-bullying initiative)

Nothing like another team finding success with an All-Star level point guard discarded by Daryl Morey. C’mon Rockets, get swept already so we can officially start calling security to have people escorted out of the building.

What do you mean a great serpent laid an egg and from it the Earth was hatched, you loin-clothed heathen? A bearded white dude willed it into existence over a six-day period, and then took a Sunday nap, and that’s why we can’t shop for liquor on that day. GET SERIOUS.

I can’t wait until Cthulhu returns to Earth comes and wipes out all of these noodly-appendaged pretender-deities.

And take your pick of the original or covers of Bobby Fuller’s “I Fought Law,” but please note that only in the Dead Kennedys version does the law not win.

I was told Olive Garden wasn’t fucking around and now I have visual proof.

I can’t wait until this drunken pupa turns into a beautiful chrysalis: Jimmy Foosball.

Next stage for Pablo: locate the ‘ANY’ key.

There’s Coke, there’s Pepsi, and there’s OK Cola, something you vaguely remember being a thing in the 90s and want to be good, but in fact tastes like grapefruit-flavored cat piss.

Is Peter Guber loaning you guys some walking-around cash out of an offshore account labeled “Unspent Bonfire of the Vanities Critic Payoffs”?