He is now my hero. I especially feel this is true about “The Star Spangled Banner.” It’s a hard ass song to sing and adding runs makes me suspect they don’t know the melody. You wanna add trills, show me you can sing the damn thing during the first verse.

Let’s expand that to all singers. I, for one, am sick of vocal gymnastics in the service of nothing evocative. And don’t do runs all the damn time. Jeeze.

Arghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Given how I feel about sharing, you bet!

That almost makes up for everything else.

Oh god, after having foot surgery that went horribly awry, all high heels look like torture devices to me. And damn, do I have some awesome heels gathering dust in my closet. (Don’t have foot surgery. It’s the worst.)

The reason everyone is shocked is because now there’s a way that all this shit can make it to a mass audience. Samantha Bee did a great report about this on her show last night.

Stupidly enough, that never occurred to me. And I loved the bud back in the day.

I developed Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Disorder after foot surgery that went awry. It’s pretty awful. The pain was excruciating. They gave me Lyrica — which is what I suspect you’re on — took my first one and that night, I could put weight on my foot for the first time in two months.

My wild ass theory is they’re…

I feel you about opioids. I can’t stop puking as long as they’re in my system. It’s the worse. Also, hallucinations. On the other hand, I went through excruciating foot surgery with horrible complications and had only Tylenol and Advil for pain relief.

There must be other drugs out there for pain. Why the fuck they’re…

He likely didn’t have the hips operated on because of his religious beliefs which prevent blood transfusions thereby preventing his surgeries. But apparently, they’re okay with pain meds. That he could have had surgeries that might have relieved his pain and prevented this situation pisses me off to no end.

Proper pain…

I can totes see getting a trifle tipsy with Hillary. On some really good bourbon, kicking back, and listening to stories and how this woman-card thing is ridiculous, annoying bullshit.

This. Pity no one is talking about it.

I could seriously kiss you on the mouth for this post. But no tongue.

God, do not go to Victoria’s Secret for a fitting. Never have I been more poorly fitted. (This was before I knew about proper fitting.) They put me into a 36B. I wear a 32 DD.

Department store fitters are better, but the best are stores that also sell post-operative prosthetics .

Who the fuck would look good in this? Even the model looks miserable. It’s like an Italian wedding cake turned on its side and allowed to rot. Or maybe that weird ribbon candy that only gets sold at Christmas attached to a men’s XXL t-shirt.

And let’s not forget that bottom flounce will hit some of us a our widest…

Dammit! My joy has been sucked away by MRAs. Ass monkeys.

If I weren’t so pissed about this, I’d tell you how much I love ‘shitlords’ and it is now my favorite insult.

And it isn’t as if Sanders didn’t know about the superdelegates when he started running as a Democrat. If he was so against them, then he should have run as an independent. He obviously doesn’t give a shit about the party, look at his lack of interest in downstream races.

Oh, good grief, settle down.