Sweet tea, at least proper sweet tea, isn’t really about the tea. The tea is just there to add some color and a subtle note to make it caramel water instead of sugar water. It’s pure diabeetus juice, but it knows what it is. Like many methodical killers, it has a clarity of purpose that can be acknowledged and respected.

The real question is why are you punishing yourself by drinking unsweetened iced tea? That’s just cold dishwater that no one respects.

…boiled peanuts are best purchased from the elderly or a fat kid at a minivan in a parking lot.

and if any word is spelled correctly on the sign, that’s a sign that they won’t be quite as good.

I always liked them better when they were Corvettes.

For it’s not so much that it’s going to be an unnecessary call than that the person just doesn’t want to collect their thoughts or (worse) doesn’t want to say what they want in writing. It’s usually going to be some ask that’s completely apart from anything I’ve been thinking about in the past 5-10 days, might be sketchy, and they apparently seem to think it’s urgent and/or nuanced, yet they’re just going to completely hold out on providing context and time that would let me be prepared for whatever pile of shit they’re about to dump on me.

If you can’t communicate it to me in a slack message or two, there’s a very real possibility that either you don’t know what you want, or that I can’t help you with it on a cold call.

I can literally feel myself deflating when I get these, like it’s a huge involuntary sigh accompanied by the classic heart-sinking…

…followed by a deep breath and a “Sure! 👍”

It drives me nuts that I can’t quite tell if that piece of tongue-in-groove (LOL) flooring is white oak, possibly varnished, or some sort of tight-grained pine.

Also, apparently Professor Hoadley was a really nice guy and very well respected.

“Hotel,” nothin’. That’s clearly the Selina Meyer Presidential Library.

“I’m telling you Molotov cocktails work. Any time I had a problem I threw a Molotov cocktail and Boom! Right away, I had a different problem.”

Ain’t no torque on a Dremel. Gotta find the hammer drill.

Thank you. That looks plausible and should keep the mental wolves at bay, LOL.

Okay, somebody here has to know of have better image searching skills than I do. What is the Visor prop? It’s clearly not a spray-painted hair clip like (the inspiration for) Geordi’s, but it doesn’t look bespoke, more like some sort of removable support rib from… something. Grrr.

I think there’s something about the parasitic nature of it, taking over an otherwise healthy ear of corn. We tend to think of our edible fungi as growing out of the dirt like a plant, or a fallen tree, or at worst sort of calmy sitting on top of whatever it is using for its own food. THe fact that this has invaded kernels makes them very bad corn kernels and triggers something instinctive. Corn smut is one of those “the first person to try this was in a bad spot” kind of foods.

Legitimate? Basically none. Illegitimate? First, lazily fixing a fuckup on putting up strings of Christmas lights where you can’t daisy chain them properly, with bonus points for the likeliehood of needing to break off the grounding pin. Second, injecting power from a generator into a single circuit of your house if the power is out.

In one sense, you could argue conductors are conductors and if you think through every eventuality you can mitigate risk, but on the other, if you find you’re in a situation where one of these seems useful, you are not the type of person thinks through every eventuality.

Cue the James Joyce letters in 3… 2… 1… ({}).

I have it on good authority that the Starbucks protein coffee gives you the double-shits.

Got a lot of sticktuitiveness.

I don’t think I should go against the grain here.

Peaked in obedience school…

Yeah, I mean there’s not a big huge punchline, but this was clearly a bit of a general send-up, and also prodding at a very specific “Tim Tebow” type of muscular Christianity.

That type of Christian man is big and strong, but also extremely manicured and soft-spoken (even while saying the usual heinous shit) and “effeminate” by certain heteronormative standards. The look and vibe lends itself to fairly easy jokes about men who are closeted or so naive they don’t realize they’re closeted, which will needle some and maybe give others food for thought. Anybody who’s spent time in the Bible Belt will have met the dude in this comic, and maybe his wife.

I doubt I’m saying anything novel here, but good lord Kilmer stole that movie for himself, and he’s therefore a big part of the reason nobody gives a shit about the Costner one, the rest being that anything “epic” that Costner did after Dances with Wolves was a self-indulgent and overlong toboggan-ride over the top-most surface of whatever theme he claimed to be exploring.

Not that the rest of the Tombstone cast didn’t have their moments, but they were all dancing to Doc’s tune. Without him, it’s a B-movie that punches slightly above its weight and gets filed away with the likes of Young Guns 2.