Effed-Up Shit, New Jersey, To Hell In a Handbasket

It’s a little sting-y, and a little itchy, but mostly just dull and throbbing.

I just found out that Richie Sambora is no longer in Bon Jovi.

(I know, it happened several days ago. I’m not good at keeping up.)

I guess this it what it’s like to feel your childhood shrivel up and die.

If I find out that Little Steven had a fall-out with Bruce, I’m moving to Canada.

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New Jersey, Superiority

Sorry for ruining your special day, other dads.

It’s sweet that people are tweeting and Facebooking and blogging and actually saying things aloud in real life about the quality of their fathers and/or husbands: namely, that said father and/or husband is the BEST FATHER EVER.

I feel a little guilty posting these photos, because exposure to them will likely shatter that reverie.

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My Uterus Will Cut You, New Jersey, Superiority

It’s not a good time to be a vagina-possessing person in North Dakota.

I’m sorry that you’ve been legally demoted from “person” to “incubator.” As always, New Jersey welcomes you.

Parts of southern New Jersey are barren wastelands similar to what I image North Dakota is like, so you should feel pretty comfortable here.

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New Jersey

Raised By Well-Groomed Wolves

I get on a flight from California back to New Jersey about eight hours from now. As long as I don’t have to sit next to a woman who thinks giving herself a full pedicure is appropriate in-flight behavior this time, it should be fine. The dead foot skin cells you just sloughed off with a pumice stone should NOT be free to move about the cabin.

I already miss my fellow Automatticians, but the pull of New Jersey, she is strong.

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