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May 5, 2004

Uh, I’m a bit shy, but…

Some Jews you do need to fear.

Uh, I’m a bit shy, but…

Some Jews you do need to fear.

Nous nous rendons

Heh. Being French must really suck sometimes. update: Plus ici

Anagrammatic

Has anyone else noticed that if you rearrange the letters in “Joseph Biden, Senator, Delaware,” you can spell out, “I’m a grandstanding prick. No, really, I am — check the record if you don’t believe it. I grandstand all the time. In fact, it’s almost embarrassing. But I can’t honestly help myself.” For the record, it also spells, “Do stop Bin Laden. He’s a Jew ear” — but that doesn’t

A Mild Rebuke to Joel Goodson

Miles: “I’m playing cards, Joel.”

Or in Spanish, “no Maas”

Trouble for America’s favorite rhino-hipped fauxpopulist schlub? “How dare you, Mr. Mickey Mouse! How dare you, sir…!” **** update: More! update’s slightly portly cousin, the one with the okay face and the great personality who you once hooked up with when you were both drunk: Aha!

Or in Spanish, “no Maas”

Trouble for America’s favorite rhino-hipped fauxpopulist schlub? “How dare you, Mr. Mickey Mouse! How dare you, sir…!” **** update: More! update’s slightly portly cousin, the one with the okay face and the great personality who you once hooked up with when you were both drunk: Aha!

Excerpt from “The Nuance-headed League,” a Sherlock Holmes Mystery, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Dr. John Watson writes: […] “The dapper client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down at the International Affairs section, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened against his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion,

Excerpt from “The Nuance-headed League,” a Sherlock Holmes Mystery, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Dr. John Watson writes: […] “The dapper client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down at the International Affairs section, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened against his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion,

Talking back to 80s music, 11

Wait, so my car’s all liberating and whatnot when you‘ve got ambitions, but I stay out late drinking one time, and suddenly you’re all, like, “take your fast car and keep on driving”…? Wow, thanks for being so understanding. Feminazi. “Fast Car,” Tracy Chapman