Right off the top of my head:
Back in the Eighties, when men were men, and children were allowed to roam free in the streets, we looked to our daytime cartoons to provide us with joy, humor, and perhaps even hope for the future.
Not quite what you were expecting, is it?
What makes a man? Is it his courage, his resilience, his resourcefulness in times of uncertainty and civic unrest? Is it being a loving father, a consummate professional, a statesman? A driving desire to improve his lot in life, and the lives of others? No ... it is the personal grooming products he keeps in his…
This thing has been popping up on my Facebook newsfeed for the past few weeks. As you can see, it’s an advertisement for a writing “MasterClass” taught by one James Patterson, author of some 147 novels, none of which you have read.
Presented without comment.
Pop quiz, asshole:
Animals: they're cute as shit and that's why you love them. 2015 has been a big year for animals — from the Siberian tiger's triumphant return to China, to cats who look like Hitler — and the competition is just heating up!
Ever since I turned 35, the AARP has been sending me their flagship monthly magazine. (Is age thirty-five around the time Gen-X-ers start retiring? Noted!) Last month’s issue featured a salt-&-pepper-bearded Kevin Costner on the cover, wearing a denim shirt and staring off forlornly at what I imagine is a massive…
Lost in yesterday's Charlie Hebdo tragedy was the unveiling of this pointless bit of satire from the other side of the pond:
Back in the 'Nineties, when being a music snob meant something, we had these things called "record stores" — actual brick-&-mortar buildings where one could browse through milk crates stuffed with vinyl in the hopes of unearthing that rare first-edition Curse of Zounds double LP (or whatever). Then we all went to…
You all know the story — boy meets girl; boy bonds with girl over mutual love of Phil Collins; boy and girl retire to private domicile to drink vodka and watch YouTube videos of Phil Collins; boy slowly realizes that Phil Collins is the Anti-Christ.
It's that time of year — the leaves are changing, gourds are being hung on suburban doors, and even the rain bouncing off of the pavement smells like hot apple cider. What better way to prepare for everyone's favorite Gaelic harvest festival than to curl up on the couch with a hot toddy (or ten) and revisit some…