“Speaker of the House Paul Ryan has said that he too is frustrated by inaction in Congress, but he refuses to budge on gun control, insisting that the problem goes to a question of mental health.” (The Guardian)
Americans, demand better of your media.
Here is an actual thing that an actual person said on television today, in reference to the Charlie Hebdo attack:
Bream wondered how police would be able to identify “bad guys” if they had ski masks and couldn’t “even know what color,” what “the tone of their skin was?”
My friend-who-I don’t-keep-in-touch-with-as-much-as-I-should Charmaine Chua posted this story on Facebook earlier today. I read it, threw up in my mouth a little, read it again, and threw up a little more.
I asked her if I could share it. At the risk of causing you to throw up in your mouth as well, here it is.
There was an egregious typo in a column you recently published on your website. In the forward-thinking and insightful piece “Drunk Female Guests are the Greatest Threat to Fraternities,” you accidentally spelled “Entitled Sexist Frat Brothers” as “Drunk Female Guests.”
You know how some guy famous for being on a reality television because his family got rich off of duck callers made shitty comments about gay people, received some blowback for it from the network that airs the show, and then everyone got their Freedom Panties in a bunch because OMG FIRST AMENDMENT?! And how that doesn’t have half a good goddamn to do with the First Amendment?
We all know, by now, that you should never read the comments.
Apparently, we can’t read the internet at all anymore, because this is an actual, non-satire, not-in-the-comments thing I just read. (Warning: will probably cause instant head explosion):
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.
Hi there! I hope you got home safely last night. By which I mean, “I hope someone sidled up to you as you walked down the street, high on friendship and Thai food, then grabbed your genitalia, followed you down the street, and lurked outside your building.” This glorious nightcap to an otherwise lovely day shouldn’t be available only to women, am I right? Let’s spread the love!
Actually, I don’t hope that at all, because unlike you, I’m not an asshole.
Let’s leave aside the terrifying image of hordes of babies with assault rifles, shooting up the joint every time they don’t feel like taking a nap or are not allowed to have another cookie.
If they are babies? They have ALREADY BEEN BORN, and thus, were not aborted. I mean, I guess the armed babies could form some kind of vigilante group to terrorize abortion clinics and attempt to stop future abortions, but that’s a whole separate issue.
1. I’m pretty sure dudes pass out drunk at parties all the time, and no one interprets this as a license to jam shit up their asses.
2. If I’m passed out drunk in the middle of the road and am unable to communicate and am wearing no pants and a t-shirt that says “Yes, Please!” and you stick anything in my vagina, you just raped me.