Office Space, Friends With Money. Other than those it’s basically been a“get that money get back to the beach” career, which I can’t really argue against.

I’m here for barefoot as high fashion.

I doubt it’s Tom Cruise (the hints would be Scientology-themed), but he does have 3 kids, not just Suri.

Solid guess.

Jesus.

“If a man needs anger management work, that would mean he’s going around beating everyone up. But, if his violence is selective to the person he’s partnered with, he doesn’t need anger management work. He manages his anger very well. He knows who to hit and who NOT to hit,” said Porter.

Her upset with the Franzen-as-Chosen-One situation was understandable, but this is not. She’s incredibly successful and already famous, and she’s upset that a lesser-known author got an award of sorts that has no quantifiable criteria and comes from a person she has previously publicly berated, just because she really…

Too generous. Wilting opens the door for at least implied pathos.

I think it was supposed to be dicknotized, unless Luann is traumatized by Tom’s dick (which may work as well, honestly).

It’s the drunken crowd at a Kenny Chesney concert, but somehow with even less football knowledge.

Being tricked into thinking (or simply choosing to believe) you’re protecting something is not the same thing as protecting it. The post-9/11 military fetishism actually actively curtailed Americans’ rights, and led to (ongoing!) violations of the Constitution directed against citizens and non-citizens alike.

Thank you. I can’t with this “they fought so you could []” shit. Somehow the [] is never the more correct “buy cheap gas.”

This is recent evacuee from Brown Island Karrueche Tran.

Erased because I fully misread this comment. D’oh!

Antivaxxers are a mixed bag of nuts, kind of like homeschoolers. The strangest bedfellows possible, united in their rejection of the vast science-based conspiracy foisted on us by a malevolent but ambiguously-motivated government-bigpharma partnership. WAKE UP!

Butler’s girlfriend Haleigh Bailey

Yes but being followed by subblogs I never visit somehow felt a little threatening.

“Have you tried Come Fuck Me Penne à la Vodka?” asked the Samantha, sipping her wine. “I’ll send you the recipe—make it on the third date. Done deal.”