This is a quality sports opinion about the ball dunker who is the subject of the blog post above.

I'll be pouring one for that rim tonight.

I have an unhealthy relationship with smoked paprika. I've been known to sneak into the kitchen late at night just to bury my nose in the jar I keep in the pantry.

I've never tried this technique with paprika, but I'm going to do so as soon as possible. I go through so much sweet (and smoked) paprika I might as well buy it in bulk.

You speak the truth, my friend.

Thank you for your kind words, Albert. I fear one day my love of culinary hellfire will burn my feeble mind to a crisp.

Since first making an arrabbiata sauce years ago, I've made it a habit to sauté crushed red pepper in olive oil at the start of almost every tomato sauce I make, regardless of its intended use.

Not a fan of that line, I'll admit. It was a needlessly sexist remark in the middle of an otherwise great bit.

I'm not a fan of Kimmel; I find his arrogant smirk grating, among other things. So I rarely watch his show.

My Opa used to make me soft-boiled eggs when I'd go visit my grandparents as a child. Of course, as an elderly European man, he had a whole set of Pfaltzgraff egg cups. I felt like a little prince every time I ate one out of those beautiful cups.

I would've never thought of this. Great tip!

You speak the goddamn truth, my friend.

“All I want for Christmas is a new front tooth. A new Xbox would be nice, also, but I know not to expect too much from you for Christmas, Dad.”

I saw Bolt Thrower live last year in Seattle, and it was nothing short of a revelatory experience.

This is an important discovery. That being said, science may never determine how many repetitions of the chorus of "Tootsee Roll" it takes to get to the center of madness.