AI in tears, runs home to sassy gay robot friend, makeover montage.
13.03.2026 23:22
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AI in tears, runs home to sassy gay robot friend, makeover montage.
May we please have the crossover film to end both franchises, “Now You Saw Me?”
Who is murmuring “beachy waves” in his ear? Who is waving texturizing scissors and pronouncing “Elizabeth McGovern in ‘She’s Having a Baby’ realness?”
Oh yeah, keep it up, Reality, these salacious Hollywood tell-alls ain’t gonna read themselves.
Chardonnay, not even once.
They got me because my friend cofounded the Dance Team Union but has no social media so I watch stuff and tell him about it. That fucking line of uniformed girls stutter step their way across my nightmares at this point.
Is it the Double Dutch bus? It pursues me with a vengeance.
Tuxedo cat and small white dog each on burnt orange cushions in a window seat, closer together than yesterday.
Sunlight and pleasant weather make boon companions of us all.
There are starting to be carcasses on the side of the road as warnings that this role is a sideshow gig at best. Watching Lauren Southern become stateless and Pearl become a podcasting tomato can should be instructive.
Kibbies are the fashion equivalent of people who will tell you confidently what Hogwarts house you’d be sorted into.
Margot Robbie takes one bad picture and the government mandates Kibbe body typing, that’s not right.
No, wait, cadmium!
Emerald or Kelly?
“Oh no, that could never happen,” says the pundit sitting next to you at the TOTALLY GONNA HAPPEN bus stop.
Today, the Academy announced its final lineup of presenters alongside one truly earth-shattering revelation: Comedian, actor, musician, and vocal maestro Matt Berry will be this year’s announcer.
A tuxedo cat and a small white dog side by side on matching burnt orange cushions in a window seat.
We have achieved an equitable pillow seat distribution, a feat previously considered impossible by earlier administrations.
People are making Mussolini and Hitler comparisons, but Trump is a basic bitch cult leader scaled up. He’s Warren Jeffs and Mar a Lago face is his prairie dress. The shoe thing is a prelude to getting your wives reassigned, probably to Corey Lewandowski.
Marco Rubio’s foot in a several sizes too large black dress shoe presumably from the Florsheim Trump collection for sad dudes who think they’re Richelieu.
This is what you get when you want to stay in good graces and hope desperately (but would still be all in) that actual eunuchs aren’t his despotic majesty’s next fancy.
Was Myron McCormick’s agent super depressed or just lazy that he looked upon his burgeoning star and sighed “Kid, if you wanna make it in this biz…I dunno, drop the Walter off your name.”
“You know how hard it is to get a purveyor of quality tinctures this side of the Danube? Looking like Pressburg 5-0.”
“Be cool, Bonaparte, you’re gonna spook the guy with the laudanum.”
Just so you know, when I am lunatic God King you’re all getting mandatory Famolare shoes. www.famolare.com/collections/...
They should invent a person who is on time.
People are too popular these days. In my day everyone started/left/went the rest of their lives without me if I was a minute late.
Exchange performance improvement plans and circle back in a month.
When the hot tub has a wake, that’s prime time.
Brian Kilmeade is a local weekend sportscaster having a terrible, wonderful dream and we are all trapped in it with him.
Getting stuck on “Need a Rhythm” duty would give me terrible 20 Feet From Stardom resentment.
(I was only a New Yorker for two years but I know how to act like I’ve been to the rodeo.)
I have a couple peregrine falcons hanging out near my house and I am trying to do my New Yorker sees a celebrity NBD attitude, but they can tell I’m down here internally squealing.