I had a similar situation on my birthday this year, but with some young money doofuses loudly going on about the 0-60 on their yachts or portholes in their Ferraris or whatever.

Taken as a diptych, we can infer that the Offspring and 311 buses are both headed to the same beach to settle this beef the only way they really can. With a Batman-and-Joker-style surf-off.

Man, I can completely relate to all of that, especially the last part. Your description of auto writing sounds exactly like boxing media. It is HILARIOUSLY inept. 

I at least hope it was a decent package. (I’ve been through buyouts in media before and it was, uh. More of a take-it-or-take-your-chances/you’re-gonna-get-nothing-and-like-it situation.)

Everything about this is understandable, inevitable and regrettable.

Even worse: Office Christmas Party is not a Christmas movie.

The Rock vs. The Evil Dead.

Have you tried Tacos & Beer on Paradise?

How much just for the liquor drawer in O’Neal’s desk?

I saw an unassisted triple play once, which was both insanely cool, super sucky because it came against my team, and also momentarily confusing without the benefit of closeups and camera angles, when everyone started jogging off the field

And now the Rock Nosferatu will return to the KISS Kasket where he retires during the day, nourished only on the glow of backyard wrestling clips coming from his Bauhaus-skinned iPad.

Man, I really hope Ep IX manages to be even more polarizing and divisive than The Last Jedi just so we can stop relitigating The Last Jedi for five fucking minutes.

Good thing no one told the entire cast of the movie about the 27-year-old comic book it was based on.

I like the part where he rubs the back of his head to show consternation. Or confusion. Or anger. Or happiness. Or that he really likes cake.

This review fails to address the only relevant question concerning this film: Does Gotti, at any point, feature the Fun Lovin’ Criminals 1996 smash hit “King of New York”

Bad news, sport. By the time that happens, this current order will be challenged by new thinking that today’s millennials will be slow to adapt, making them the crusty old guys saying stupid things of tomorrow.

“Hey, I didn’t do nothin’, man. ... All right, enough. ... Ok, you made your point ... Seriously, man, cut it out ... Dude, I mean it. ... I swear to G— you know what? Fuck this shit.”

Feedback from the fifth-graders led to the suggestion International House of Butts. Did you think the “b” was coincidental?

Sons of Anarchy and its endless parade of mournful Katey Sagal ballads can get eternally fucked.

That is EXACTLY what I would have imagined if someone said “80s-era British Elvis pseudo-impersonator” to me.