Curious about the quickest way to watch a woman put on weight? It’s not by taking creatine. It’s not by buying a cat or by joining a book club. It’s not pregnancy. It’s not even by moving her to rural Ohio. The quickest way to watch a woman pack on the pounds is simply by starting at one and swiping right through her photos. #TinderForLife #LetMeSeeYourArms
Starting what will likely be a new thread theme.
Today’s random fact: If you’re looking for designer furniture at rock bottom (no pun intended) prices, take a midnight stroll through your city’s gay neighborhoods the day before trash day. Often, high quality, lightly used furniture can be had for virtually nothing. I’ve picked up at least five feather dusters with this strategy.
Swiping. Swiping. Swipinggg. And I come across this decrepit physical MANifestation of the PIIGS:
What is that thing doing on my phone and why is that thing on tinder? According to Wikipedia, “she has been called ‘the Sir Edmund Hillary of social climbing.'” Well, after selling her dying, shit media company to a larger company well versed in the subject of failed M&A, failed journalistic merit, and failed customer acquisition/retention, there’s not much to do but just keep climbing. (Still, Sir Edmund somehow managed to not sell himself out and marry into money and prestige.)
Would it be possible for Greece to stop sending us their trash and perhaps focus on producing the best damn olive oil, wheat, and fresh nuts the drachma can buy? Instead of exporting crippling depression, unreasonably high expectations-wielding migrant workers, and bleeding heart socialist swine, perhaps Greece can refocus their efforts and get back to their dark, curly roots.
I look forward to the day when the likes of Paul Singer and Dan Loeb get to pick through the Chapter 11 ashes of the AOL/HuffPost Media Group. I’m already dreaming up the 100 Day plan. Day 1: siphon off the pension assets of the writers and editorial board and throw it all into long dated Greek debt. Day 2: remove all Kashi bars, tofu, kale, and any other gluten-free pothead “food” from the cafeteria and replace it with steak tartare and chewing tobacco. Day 3: execute a Jeff Gundlach-style raid of Arianna’s office to remove all reefer, paraphanilia, VHS porn, and her vast collection of multicultural fleshlights. Day 4: Fire the staff and watch them attempt in vain to make the jump to Gawker before Hulk Hogan gives them his final, finishing leg drop, brother.
Starting what may be a new thread theme here.
Today’s prolonged, awkward moment occurred shortly after work. Walking home and a massive thunderstorm was rolling into the city. I was coming up to an intersection when the wind gusted to 40+ MPH and ripped my Brooks Brothers umbrella clean off the handle.
The rich, mahogany handle was fine, resting in my tightly clenched fist. But alas, the umbrella, cloth and pole (sans handle), went barreling into the side of a white Lexus sitting in traffic not thirty feet away. The driver looked at me, looked at the umbrella, and stared at me as I rushed over to capture it and view the extent of the property damage. It was at this time the umbrella shot toward me, then went back and slammed into the Lexus side paneling for a second round of fun. The entire time, the man at the wheel never lost eye contact.
Then, the umbrella sputtered back behind the Lexus, latched onto the front grill of the green Land Rover behind the Lexus, and with the help of a strong gust, climbed the front of the Land Rover, side over side, and made it atop the windshield and sat there, squarely in the center of the windshield, for a solid five seconds. It was at this point that my eyes left those of the man in the Lexus and shifted toward the piercing glare of the man in the Land Rover.
The umbrella then fell sideways, and with another gust, slammed into the driver side door before I was able to viciously bury my foot into the spine of the thing. I’d say those fifteen seconds of chasing down the umbrella without losing eye contact with two very pissed off individuals were the highlight of my day. Brooks Brothers prides itself on the quality of its products. I’d rather lick the floors at a Lumber Liquidators than buy another gimmicky piece of shit from Brooks Brothers.
Reagan be with you.