That picture is from Pareene’s apartment, isn’t it?

Trump Shoes.

There’s no place like home.

You need me on that wall!

Snipers are the solution to a lot of problems these days, I hear some folks say.

Goth = π

T̶u̶r̶k̶e̶y̶ America is a finicky meat that is hard to prepare without some part of it becoming an overcooked, dry disappointment masked in gravy.

Just once I’d like to see a President, any President at all, condemn the turkey and personally chop its head clean off on worldwide TV. I thought maybe George W. Bush might do it, but no. Palin might have done it, but we were all spared the nightmare of her presidency, though it’s hard to imagine how much worse it…

The power of the Orb overcomes all.

Rock of Ages will herald the end times when Taylor Swift covers it.

Big is killed by Professor Plum with a candlestick in the Drawing Room.

If you feed the President a carrot, the horse will shit a Medal of Freedom.

This rule was originally proposed by the Men Without Hats as a matter of public safety.

Peacock eggs, bacon, and salamander gravy. Yum!

I’m glad she doesn’t have to choose between royalty and her grog.

The answer is simple, publish a secret blog only for the aristocracy and subscribers of Town & Country.

Nothing says regret like Taylor Swift videos from 2006.

Thin gruel.

Put Ben Carson in charge.

You don’t use Facebook.  Facebook uses you.