Sloopy might have ingested a few bad bits of meat yesterday, so you get me again today. Ho joy. At least my office is theoretically closed so I can spend the day in the great outdoo… what? It’s 107? Fuck, where’s my beer?

Birthdays today include a guy who was just a shadow of himself; the true spiritual father of Donald Trump; a guy who could have been Kelvin; a guy who said, “I think I Kann, I think I Kann!”; another of the hereditary morons who dominate New England politics; one of my personal heroes (and obligatory reading if you want to understand anything about biology); the best parts of Brazil and Soap; a fine actress who was wonderful in the most infuriating film ever made; a guy whose fielding was so bad, his nickname was Clank;  a guy who would be happy to string you along; and arguably the greatest comic strip auteur of all time (“Imagine Walt Kelly, but actually funny.”).

Links are imminent.


Club rules: replace your divots. We’re serious about that.


The first time as tragedy, the second time as farce. What is it now, the twentieth time?


I have a newfound respect for golf.


This is good, but I fervently hope the US stays far, far away from it.


Needs more tongue-bath.


Old Guy Music is also imminent. Another Peter Green song you thought was written by someone else.