You can tell a lot about a person based on their taste in pop culture. Obviously, there are no universal truths, but if your nerdgasms come from Star Wars + Beatles, chances are, we’re pretty compatible. If your favorite Christmas song is Father Christmas by the Kinks, you’re probably my secret BFF.
So I haven’t been very active over the past few months. In August, I accepted a job at a new company in a new city that is about a 5 or 6 hour drive from the only city in which I’ve ever lived. The adjustment to the new job and new city has been...ok. Maybe slightly less than ok. Ok, definitely less than ok.
Please tell me you saw this, brotherparish. This was wonderful.
Just blowing spitfire anti-dog and anti-booze takes on Deadspin where, for what it’s worth, one of the goddamned most adorable celebrity dogs is chilling.
Your favorite author continues to make your day.
I was just criticized over on Jezebel, and had a comment dismissed for “virgin shaming.”
[EDIT: She replied (and I replied) below.]
Look, I’m not going to boycott every company on some of those pro-Trump lists going around. The #grabyourwallet list is useful, because it contains a lot of information (found here: https://grabyourwallet.org/), but I’m not boycotting every company on there.
As goes the Super Bowl, so goes life. Trump and his acolytes will always win. I vowed not to watch the game. Then I heard that Atlanta was up 21-0. So I said, “Fuck yeah, I’ll watch these evil motherfuckers lose!”
Here’s what I’m struggling with the most, on this first Official Monday of the End Times, and it’s something I’ve struggled with since That Tuesday In November: Pretending that life is normal.
This is a eulogy for America and I’m crying like a baby. We are so fucked and I already miss him so much.
In addition to quitting smoking, I’m also trying to shed a few pounds, so my lunch break now consists of running* for a half an hour and drinking a Slim-Fast afterwards.
I’ve got a bottle of champagne on ice, a bottle of sparkling white grape juice chilling for the Funklets, a case of porter chilling on the veranda for me, a case of Corona chilling on the veranda for Mrs. Funk, and I’ve got a pitcher of Bloody Mary’s hanging out in the fridge, waiting for tomorrow morning.
Between two people who have been posting the same comment to each other multiple times every day for three months.
I’ve decided that we’re all going to avoid the race wars, class wars, climate-related famine, and Chinese nuclear annihilation of the trump presidency by moving in together. Underground, in a sweet bunker.
Just got back from a lovely night at the ER where, long story short, I learned that I have the coronary arteries of a man 20 years my senior. So for the next three weeks I’m going to be drinking, smoking, napping, and lathering myself in red meat, butter, and gravy. Cause come New Year’s I’ve got some serious…
I’m going to let this peace with the in-laws last for three days before I kill them and take their land.
I mean, I still can’t...