I recently was tasked to write an ekphrastic poem for a museum event.

Thoughts and prayers, journos. Thoughts and prayers.

The infield at NASCAR races is something akin to Charlie Sheen’s darkest thoughts, but damn, those people can cook.

Read that, then added, “Master Wayne” to the end.

Mexico is enchanted. Next assignment: Oaxaca. Center of the Mole Universe. Ate a corn fungus soup with squash blossoms that made me cry from the beauty.

+1 for spongeworthiness.

Effective, but under-utilized: Madolyn smith.

At his age, he has to get up at least four or five times during the night to STP.

Here’s a little sumpin-sumpin for your trouble.

Permission also granted.

I wondered the same about hidden context profiling of the “light” flower-sniffing sponge.

Is this the right time to confess to an obsession with anthropomorphic graphics on house-brand household sponge products? I can never tell.

:::: kneeling ::::

The misperception of domestic safety while our home is actually full of hidden squalor we’d expect on a cruise ship slaughterhouse is one of my favorite things in the whole wide world.

You don’t think you’re entering a verbal promise to show up when you reserve a table at a restaurant?

How far did you get into the comment before your knee jerked? Three words? None? Or did your eye just jump to “douchetornado?”

You’d need a serious pair of Dwight Stones to try something like that.

Permission granted.

As attractive as it is to go after an owner on a decision like this (especially when they’re putting a garnish of shaming on top of the shitpile), the people you’re screwing the most by not showing up - and not calling - are the wait staff, the bartenders, the valets, the hosts and others for whom a ghost reservation…

AV Club headline in 2023: