... Paul, a Ryan Lochte spinoff that only ran for six episodes ...

God. That panic that sets in right after you get so high that you forget how to talk and, only then, realize that you ate another half. So-high-I-don’t-wanna-be-high-anymore can only begin to describe that feeling.

They also believe angels are real and that a Red Dawn scenario is imminent. I gave up the whole “valuing other people’s opinions” compunction with this group a long fucking time ago.  

I read God’s Debris when I was a teenager struggling to hold on to my belief in God. Didn’t realize until college that it was basically the substance/modes hypothesis from Spinoza’s Ethics minus the nuance and breathtaking genius.

Nihilist Arby’s on Twitter is damn delicious.

I understand the impulse, but as with anything else, context matters. I didn’t get even a whiff of mean-spiritedness while watching this, but more importantly, I trust Marshawn. Dude’s an inveterate defender of his own dignity and constitutionally incapable of putting up with bullshit — mountains of money be damned.…

Can’t star this enough. Access journalism has disincentivized solid reporting, and we’re all poorer for it.

This would explain the phenomenon of millions of people ostensibly voting against their own interests.

+1 McNutty

Hall-of-Fame voters are gonna grandstand themselves into obscurity, and not a moment too soon. They talk about “the game” the same way my great-aunt Ida talked about “how things used to be.” In Arkansas. In the 1950s.

Awesome reductive reading there. Why the fuck I expected you to give the slightest impression that you’re capable of nuanced thought is beyond me. Carry on.

I think he’s offering the reasonable take that skepticism is good, but taking it to its logical extreme (as you seem to suggest) results in meaning nihilism, which makes fundamental assumptions necessary for the peaceful cooperation of a society untenable.

Publishing that document, if you have gotten your hands on it, is the most basic and essential act of reporting. The mandate to publish that document is not a matter of journalistic ethics, but the entire reason to have a free press.

“He just gets me.”

Post-game meeting at the field:

Reminds me of my dad’a reaction when I entered—and won—a hula-hooping contest at the Sonic in my dad’s hometown in Bumfuck, Arkansas.

Reminded me of another time I saw an inner monologue put on Front Street.

In all fairness, that looked a lot like Debo’s chain.

I bet he uses the word “sublime” at least once an hour.

Wearing glasses is about the same as a B.S. in psychology. We need a Ph.D-level, bridge-of-his-nose wearing ostensible academic. Bonus points if he starts his conversations with, “Do you know where you are, Dolores?”