I'd love to see him get flushed by the other shitbirds in his party. God, I love it when they turn on each other.

Holy shit.

A million years ago I flew in the smoking section of a TWA 747 from JFK to Cairo on my junior year abroad. It was late August, and I was the only person from my university in the program. I was farther away from home, and more alone, than I'd ever been before.

Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, but I also get to run the NEA and any museums under federal direction. Art and architecture czar, basically.

It must be nice using a keyboard, this preventing any of those adorably non-fake backwards letters.

I don't think those are the lyrics to Pac-Man Fever.

You are not alone. I use my Shuffle in exactly the same way: in the car and at the gym. It's small, cheap, light, and has enough storage for a bunch of podcasts and music.

Good.

Hey, remember when we had a boorish thug in the White House who did more good than harm? Good times (sorta).

I grew up in Massachusetts and I sometimes wonder if the dark power of Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards has seeped into my bones.

Be my guest.

So, Howard Stern's still a thing, huh?

I blame 50 Shades of Grey. It made crudeness and barely coherent writing attractive, and it gave the rubetariat permission to be as base and foul as their imaginations would permit.

I'd be fine never again seeing the commercial for the IUD marketed to forgetful women.

Jon Hamm is the only name that comes to mind.

They'll bring them back when they launch the inevitable reboots.

I'm not. I think the nostalgia is from people too young to have picked up on the existential dread that living under constant threat of nuclear annihilation grinds into your soul.

Oh, fuck you, Hulu. Fuck you to Hell.

What's that, sonny? You have to speak into my ear horn.

I can't even begin to guess what any of that means.