—yeah, yeah, I know it.  And the truth is, the little bastard danced up a storm all afternoon.  In fact, he was like a young Deney Terrio, to hear him talk about it.  Or at least, a middle-aged Adrian Zmed. But here’s the thing:  after my landlord showed up unexpectedly this afternoon with an elderly couple interested in buying the house out from under us, I disappeared into the toolshed

“This Laun-dry Basket my Prison” Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This laun-dry basket my prison! I have lost Countless men (and all respectability) such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance when age had Dimm’d mine eyes to heteronormative gambits most venal! They, Meanwhile, Penises whom I never more shall meet again, (To their utter delight, and in answer to their prayers, I dare

Stuff this into your salted herring and smoke it. (h/t Brian T)

Kennedy:  “Uh, I’ll just have whatever Stevens, Breyer, Ginsburg, and Souter are having.” **** update:  “Oh.  And if you could find out what Pinch Sulzberger eats for dessert and bring me one of those, too, I’d really appreciate it.”

Relying on Congressional sources, USA Today further exposes details about the NSA “domestic surveillance” initiative, another boot to the skull of the already moribund program.  But don’t complain:  the death of this empirically vile assault on your civil liberties (about which few specifics are known, sure—but you must admit it certainly sounds just awful!) is for your own good.  Even if you don’t believe it.  And let’s be honest here: 

Please, Che it isn’t so! I have a feeling the fix was in.  Had to be.  Though to be honest, my curiosity is so piqued that I’m going to run out later and buy a beret and a motorcycle.  And some chicken enchilados.  Of course, I was planning on having the enchilados anyway.  So that last part is entirely coincidental.