After experiencing the joys of the global workplace with an 11pm (EST) conference call, and my wonderful, coordinated 2 year-old who will not be kept in bed just because The Man says so when he wakes up at 4am, I’m a little punch drunk. Or maybe just drunk-drunk. I heard vodka and redbull worked like cocaine, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Or six.

The second best part of the Verlander trade

Florida Man takes semi-pro football pretty seriously.  If Coach lived in Seminole Heights, he should be worried. I don’t know much about Seminole Heights other than I drive past it to go to the zoo.

Given that the FBI just dumped files on Adam Lanza, I suspect that we can expect that they don’t have shit on the Vegas shooter.

OMG! FEMA shipped packaged food with a long shelf life instead of Blue Apron to Puerto Rico where they may not have power or gas to cook with. Supplemented with MREs. Now, I don’t have personal experience, but everyone I know who had to subsist on MREs was more than happy to have beef jerky or cheese and crackers for a change.

 

I love that nutbars can wander into our Capitol and throw Russian flags at the President from close range. I mean it. It gives me some hope that it isn’t as bad as it could be.

When did aging Brit pop assholes become the voice of sanity? First Morrisey then Boy George?

“We have to be really careful with the Internet because people say everyone is talking – it’s like five people, they’re retweeting each other,” he told Israel’s Channel 2 News in an interview this week, “and that doesn’t constitute a revolution.”

Speaking of British heroes, it looks like at least some in England want to land a human on the moon in the future.

Sometimes you just fall into the song.

Oh yeah, Go Astros!