Overheard conversations at nearby tables when I’m having my morning coffee is often the highlight of the day. Usually it’s some banal shit about half-understood politics or well-understood partying. Yesterday morning’s was wonderful. “…but the picture on the box showed her using it on the back of her neck.”

Today is a weak birthday day, but I should still point out a guy whose motto was, “At your cervix!”; a guy who might have taught Tyson a lesson or two; a guy of no particular principles beyond attention-seeking; a walking advertisement for Kool-Aid; a guy who got mistaken for a baseball; an honored sci fi writer who, let’s be honest, was more than a bit dull; a backbone of Fleetwood Mac when it was still good; Ray Charles’s seeing eye dog; the quintessential piece of shit “moderate”; a guy who made fame and fortune in comedy by not being the least bit funny; and a chick you really don’t want to see naked but she’ll show you anyway.

Oh yeah, links.

 

“The Three Stooges Plan. We’ll eliminate waste, fraud, and abuse!”

 

Eating their own.

 

I hope these lawyers get his so hard with sanctions that their testicles descend.

 

“Did you see how she was dressed? She’s just asking for it!”

 

Tres Cool nods.

 

“It’s become my identity.”

 

How this can possibly be constitutional is beyond me.

 

This is the band that I’m going to see tonight. They are quite the deal.