See, The Inventory? This is how you pimp something.

I’m old enough to think that Post Malone sounds like a breakfast cereal.

Nashville? P’shaw.

Thanks,

I fucking hate cats. Not individual cats. There have been individual cats whose company I’ve come close to enjoying. Just the idea of cats. I’m a dog guy.

I’d rather ask a sandwich if Rob Riggle is a comedian.

Jon:

Janet Jackson, “That’s the Way Love Goes” is butter in my ears. Which sounds worse than I planned.

Can we just teach the students? Just teach. That’s hard enough. It is, as they say, a full plate already.

If anyone exemplifies the Spanglish phrase “Live Mas,” it would be Ms. Claire Lower.

Been there. Attended that. Called it as I saw it. Loved it, but I needed AstroGlide, the Jaws of Life and a claw machine to get out. Indies are about selling books. Room for events that draw more than a dozen is rare.

Disappointed that for 2018 the GSoA didn’t created a bitter, hard-to-swallow cookie named the #MeChew.

At moments when I am totally confused by the incongruous nature of life, when one thing appears to be true and then is contradicted wildly, I will just open my mouth and yell, “HE RAN SPAIN.”

Some entertaining future Tarantino should revisit in another 20 years and turn Joe Fox into the Rooftop Killer.

Kathleen Kelly: I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.

Unrelated: Ninth Takeout post today and it’s only 12:05 in the p.m.

Cookbooks are fucking hard. They just are. You spend years, if you’re worth a damn, putting your soul into them. The editing feels like a daily root canal. You test, you re-test, you re-test the re-tests. Then comes the photography, which usually ends up looking nothing like what the author had in mind (unless the…

Ow.

Agreed. I’m just a little fanboy for Colossal black olives.