In which I formally enter onto the historical record the vaguest proof possible that I exist outside this text and your mom’s most cherished memories.
I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a healthy toy dog breed well nursed at any age is a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassée or a ragout.
Re-visiting the timeless problem facing the Liberal Arts & Humanities. Also, I totally stole that featured image – link in the story.
George Bailey was better than all of us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t aspire to his greatness
Dear Millennials, Cat Person is exactly the type of shit that will continue to make the world not pay any attention to you, whatsoever. I mean, you’ve got 11 minutes left of your 15 here. Please do not mistake this temporary fixation on one of your authors making bank to mean that the world is […]
I mean, I already have several neighbors and they’re alright with me. You can get your own fuckin’ neighbors. But seriously, just read the post.