It’s like us lapsed Catholics getting ready to nail the “and also with you” only to hear everyone else say “and with your spirit” or whatever. You’ve picked the easiest part to demonstrate your in-groupness, but totally faceplant the landing.

♫ God bless America... land that I luff... dah dah dah dah, hmm hmm hmm, to the thing with the thing over there. Hmm hmm hmm hmm, hmm hmm prairies, hey Melania, is that snow? God bless America... la la la no. ♫

I don’t know what’s worse, that he was tweeting this stuff, or that he was going through her phone. Big no no.

Ah, so she picked out those shirts for him. This warms my heart.

We are living in Bigly, the real-life remake of Big we never asked for.

Vegetables have begun appearing on his plate, though it’s not clear how much of them he is eating.

It’s a blender, where they can toss in a bunch of rhetoric with just a pinch of fact to try to make a PR smoothie.

For some reason, in my mind, I keep on hearing Morgan Freeman narrate the sexual harassment: “Morgan didn’t realize the way he terrorized women on the set. I don’t know if he wasn’t able to read their reactions or if he just didn’t care.”

Nah. God help me, but I was really really good at golf growing up, and I preferred it to hockey and baseball because you could be high as a kite while playing on the high school golf team. So anyway, as a young pup I played a ton of tournament golf. Here’s what actually happened, if it ever gets out of the grays....

“Horton, Here’s a Poo!”

If only there were a world wide network of interconnected computers that could store easily searchable facts, such as whether a golfer can be cut at the Player’s Championship after his Saturday round...

I’m pretty sure they make more than $130K.

While McCain’s answer re Obama/Islam was fine, I prefer how Colin Powell addressed it:

In other words, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed are kings.

A big infusion of cash from the Russians.

I believe you misspelled Years. 

Former bartender that can confirm many basic bitches love Long Islands at their favorite campus bar

Doesn’t even need to have a screen. Some 80s BMW ECUs could do a “stomp test,” which consisted of “typing” a sequence on the brake pedal with the key in a certain position, and the check engine light would blink a little code to you whose meaning you could look up in the manual. No scan tool required.

Golf — a sport with such an evolved etiquette that I’ve yet to play a round without seeing a guy pissing in the bushes.