The soccer-style San Antonio Spurs fans are mortifying.

This January on Fox: We gave Patrick Dempsey a duffel bag full of guns and told him to make a TV show, Molly Parker is Dr. Confused, and The Masked Singer still has that whole "terrorist attack on an anime convention" vibe.

Whenever the dispensary is giving away edibles the product is called something like Guap Dawg's Stankin' Sweets.

Fully realizing my 15-year-old self's potential by spending the holidays playing Paper Mario while stoned out of my gourd.

Pete Hegseth hitting a top-five bleakest group chat in world history with "Ho ho ho motherfuckers! 🎅💣"

Bob's Discount Seminary, Fat Dave's House of Worship, etc.

NBA folks -- a personal URL and site hosting fee is worth it. You will make more money. I was able to cover my first Finals in 15 years off the difference, driving to all seven games.

My holiday break goal is to hole up with a bunch of old Art Bell recordings and emerge into 2026 insufferable but also weirdly anachronistic. I'm gonna be the guy who won't shut up about cow mutilations and what the Osage County Sheriff's Office is hiding from us.

28 Years Later is one of the most aggravatingly juvenile things I've watched in a while. Two edgelord sentimentalists cycling through wan meditations on nationalism, fathers and sons, illness, grief, etc. amid SICK HEADSHOTS. I hate these dudes.

I recently learned that the Manson-connected trio Dennis Wilson ran in after his divorce called themselves The Golden Penetrators. My mind is now consumed by this fact. I may soon forget how to breathe.

Baba ghanoush > hummus, but in truth it's a Jordan/LeBron situation.

There's not, like, a dearth of reporting on what Stephen Miller is trying to accomplish and why. You can include his perspective without speaking to him.

In 2026, we're gonna put my friend Casey in charge of CBS News.

Terry Crews is on the shortlist of celebs who would definitely cut a "fun" commercial for Lockheed Martin.

You're Coca Fucking Cola. Pay real artists to animate your commercial.

Absolutely disgusting to see all these photos of Bill Clinton partying with the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

His best quality continues to be humiliating people who wring their souls dry for him.

This is exactly the sort of thing that long-running legacy pubs with plenty of cash should be doing. I'd happily pay for a Sports Illustrated subscription just to have access to a searchable and comprehensive SI Vault. www.newyorker.com/news/press-r...

Yeah, LinkedIn Year in Review, that's because everyone I know got laid off.

He's three years old today.

[A bar appears in any film made before 1996:] I wish I was there right now.

"High-brow," "middle-brow," and "low-brow" designate the perceived cultural value of various arts and activities. These categories are thusly named because, as we all know, the smartest thoughts come from way up on your forehead, near the hairline, and the dumbest are produced just above the eyes.

You're telling me a trout replicated this mask?

I unclogged the drain in our ancient bathroom tub with my own two hands. My greatest 2025 achievement came late in the game.

Commercial campaigns are getting too familiar too quickly and frankly it's disrespectful. "You've always loved your cell phone friends, Zoe Saldana and Jeff Bridges." Fuck you, learn some humility. It took Flo thirty-five years to build this shit.

Elon makes a lot of really great points about how sometimes people who are not originally from a place get to make decisions about how it's run, and how that can be problematic. Let's take, for example, South Africa...

UPS, day before delivery: GIRD YOUR LOINS MOTHERFUCKER. UPS, day of delivery: Whoops, hold on. Gimme, uh... huh, that's weird.

It has to be said that Howard Cosell really put some pepper on his call of John Lennon's death. youtube.com/watch?v=5OZU...

"Considered the NFL's most complicated honor, the OJ Simpson Man of the Year Award celebrates the league's most outstanding player who's also a real piece of shit."

If you're at all interested in Flaming Hydra's whole thing: 95 bucks gets you five days a week of good writing and some nice printed materials.

During the NBA's COVID layoff, I wrote what turned into a running examination of fuck-ups from the 90s/00s. It's lacking—the work always sucks after you publish it—but I think it's the best sportswriting I ever did. Been thinking about this JR Rider joint. basketball.realgm.com/analysis/257...

Fernando Mendoza positively surging up the Future Terrible Senator Power Rankings.

The big media companies are going to keep eating each other and consolidating. An already huge and ever-growing share of their product is overpriced, soul-wilting crap. To whatever extent possible, seek out the small and the strange. It's really all you can do.

Choosing to believe that Yale has scored a victory against its eternal rival Yale State.

Happened upon this edition of The Master And Margarita where it looks like Begemot signed to No Limit.

We need to save Michelle Monaghan. A second Family Plan movie is too much.

When you shoot at the troops, you shoot at the troops. When you kill people on behalf of the CIA, you become "disturbed by the casualties your unit had caused."

Donald Darko, Jerome Maguire, William & Theodore's Excellent Adventure, etc.

I love when the city empties out for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It is like: this is where life happens, and you go someplace else to handle the half-real shit you don't want to do.

It's always a good day to roast every goddamn vegetable in the house and figure the rest out later.

I've long held the theory that we're living through the 60s and 70s but without any of the fun, depravity, and/or weirdness. But I did just see a Release The Epstein Files commercial on Monday Night Football, so maybe we're getting on the right kind of wrong track.

Prestige journalism always had lots of catty in-fighting but now that it consists of only a dozen apex social climbers it is exclusively that.

There is not much to recommend Western New York, but every time I watch a cold weather Bills game something deep in my soul yearns to gas 8-10 Labatts and insult a referee's mother.

I've decided to make a bunch of different ragùs to sustain me through the cold weather months. Started with this strangely delicious one. www.epicurious.com/recipes/food...

He's just so happy.

I understand that there are very good statistical arguments for not giving the MVP to the giant-assed catcher who hit 60 dingers, but also: come on.

Hoo, your boy went through it a couple-three times in the dark semi-solitude of the theater during Train Dreams.

Call me a tedious moralist, but I draw the line at "being cool with kid-fucking."

For the morning crowd: I published some new fiction over at Flaming Hydra. flaminghydra.com/the-paramete...

It’s a restrained work, I hope, but I have put my whole self into this. flaminghydra.com/the-paramete...