That’s the first symptom of a coronavirus.  You should get checked ASAP.

Sounds about right.  PG County got to protect their “minority.”

I brought my office raccoon skull home to be with my home office skulls, so it wouldn’t be lonely.

I don’t have to imagine. I live with a cat and she sees all of them.

Now, Mary-Kate and Pierre Olivier Sarkozy are getting divorced, and unfortunately, it sounds ugly.

Me, reading this:

A few days ago, I woke up with this wild hare to list out all of the sneakers I wore from August 1991 to June 1996. I could do it visually, but the INTERNET LET ME DOWN.

SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY

I’d like to have been roasted by Little Richard.

Still grossed out by those two ash trays in the center console.

Everything looks like a bridesmaid’s dressing gown for insta-obsessed bridezillas.

Seems like this test is preaching to the choir, since Wrangler owners seem to hardly be interested in safety while they’re dangling their legs out of the doorless openings to low-five each other with a sunburnt, flip-flop clad appendage.

I have about a dozen, mostly from the early 20th C. However the most interesting one is from the workers at DuPont’s Tyvek factory in Martinsville, VA. In 1991 they printed it on Tyvek.

They’re Canadian.  They’ll be sorry.

For those of you who are not drummers, Ludwig made the Salesman Kit for this purpose, with the different options of shell wrap. It was reissued in recent years and is totes rad.

As a non-Trump, how would one prepare for this briefing without first anticipating the questions? Because every question is going to be an indictment of Trump’s incompetence and moronity.

Macys is already prepared for social distancing.

I’m totally fine with the emergency capacity restrictions in place (also mandated my state), but it also means checking the weather as I need certain TJ’s items.

I would gladly say “Celeeka” the rest of my life if I don’t have to listen to that shitbox motor revving ever again.

The mirrors are the best part, because nothing says “Opulent Road Trip” quite like staring at my own, richly adorned ‘gina, while we cruise along at 70 mph on the pantsless highway to freedom.