You nailed it, man.
You nailed it, man.
Full disclosure: I went to Pittsburgh for a wedding with an ex-girlfriend in September 2015. The wedding itself was actually super classy—bride and groom were both Ph.Ds—so I really thought “hey this might not be a bad trip.”
I knew there was a place all these Western PA crackers were manufacture! There’s just simply no way that many slack-jawed yokels are getting laid on a regular basis.
I can taste the beer’s bitterness through my screen.
I work in an office filled with Steelers fans.
Preliminary reports indicate that the pilot lost control of the plane after learning Tennessee has a professional football team.
“Bulky beefy blogger body” sounds like a great name for a sketch comedy troupe whose lone season of television exposure airs in reruns on Epix at 3am.
It’s bus. BUS.
Jeff Fisher is just eminently forgettable.
Magnificent.
I’ll be honest, for a moment there, when Jeff Fisher’s name popped up, I had to stop for a second and thought to myself, “wait, Jeff Fisher *isn’t* still the coach of the Titans?”
I regret that I have but one star to give.
I was sitting at home, reading this post on the shitter, using my designated shitter-device (a 2013 Nexus 7). As I scroll down, to just below JP Finlay’s tweet, Chrome displays an advertisement...for Maryland personal injury attorneys, with a picture of a dude in a wheelchair with a broken leg. I tried to screenshot…
+3 wake-ups
That poor child’s thousand-yard stare. Someone needs to call CPS and report the Browns for child abuse.
Judging by that photo, Freddie’s been in one too many kitchens.
I hate seeing this. Honestly, I didn’t even like it when Dogfish Head sold to Sam Adams—I know it’s apples and oranges, but it just felt...icky.
Did “dumpster fire” give it away?