My actual childhood home.

Mom is turning 90, so I’m heading to Baltimore to attend the party. Maybe I’ll find a cougar in her assisted living facility… and sadly, there’s no Publix roasted chicken there. Ah well.

Anyway, she’s not the only one with a birthday, we also have a guy who may have scooped Einstein; a famous sledder; the guy who figured out why some molecular vibrations looked a bit funny; the greatest composer in American history; a guy whom I celebrate on my birthday; a guy whom we celebrate on Riven’s birthday; the most fun shortstop I ever watched; a guy who challenged Social Security for crazy Ponzi schemes; a guy who was famous for driving around in circles; a guy who, at his essence, was about nothing; the very worst Star Trek captain; and one of my favorite masturbatory fantasies.

While I clean up, let’s Link.

 

Cunt.

 

Congratulations, you invented a lesbian bar. Expect to be burned out within the next month or two.

 

“Find one in every Negro’s car. You’ll see.”

 

“How do you say ‘chutzpah’ in Ukrainian?”

 

He’s right, but not for the reasons he thinks.

 

They’re not even pretending any more.

 

But of course, this is far less important than Supreme Court spouses having lives beyond Walmart greeter.

 

Really, what other song would work here?