Oh come on now. Did the people asking this ever consider introverts? This is the biggest softball I’ve been served since grade school.
I’ll eat at home every time if given a choice, with my dog.
My brother-in-law has been the president of 3 of the top 10 restaurants in the country and I ate at all of them. I’ve been to France and Italy. I’ve been to the Orient. I ate on other people’s money at some of the finest dining facilities that exist.
On business trips, I’d eat alone with a book if given a choice.
It’s at home though, my favorite restaurant, preferably alone.
It’s no secret the Left is miserable. You can see it in their faces, literally, hear it in their rage, and feel it in every joyless comment they make online. For them, politics isn’t just a topic—it’s their entire personality. God, family, humor, hobbies? Nah. Their whole identity is wrapped around being angry, offended, and endlessly activated.
Meanwhile, conservatives are out here doing something radical: living life. Smiling. Starting families. Touching grass. Being normal.
And now, a new study validates these differences and says the quiet part out loud: the Right is not only much happier—we’re way better looking, too.
An article published in “Nature” analyzed over 3,300 photos to explore the connection between facial features and political views. The results weren’t too flattering for our angry, homely friends on the Left. Turns out, science isn’t their friend after all.
A man was arrested early Monday for allegedly driving while intoxicated after he failed to stop at a flashing red light and struck a Dallas police squad car.
The crash occurred near Dallas Love Field Airport on Cedar Springs Road and Manor Way around 3 a.m. while the police officer was traveling northward on a routine call, according to Fox 4 KDFW.
A Chevy Camaro was heading west at the same time and allegedly ran the red light, hitting the Dallas police squad car. The impact caused the officer’s vehicle to veer off the road, while the Camaro crashed into a utility pole.
The intersection is controlled by flashing lights; the officer had a flashing yellow, while the driver of the Camaro had a flashing red light, police said, as reported by Fox 4.
Neither the male driver nor the female passenger was injured in the incident. The unidentified man was arrested for driving while intoxicated.
I usually love MLB’s special edition merch, but this ain’t it.
Last year when I was on vacation, I was scrolling through my phone one day and saw that Major League Baseball had released special edition hats in collaboration with rapper Drake’s October’s Very Own (OVO) brand. Being an Atlanta fan, I bought a Braves hat with the most crisp navy blue and red owl on the side.
Fast forward a year later, and now MLB is dishing out mistakes after their glorious Drake collab. This one has to do with the Texas Rangers, specifically in regards to one hell of a hat design.
A new cap was unveiled by MLB’s Texas Rangers that puts the team’s “T” logo smack dab in the middle of “Texas.” But there were two problems: 1. It’s ugly as hell, and 2. … and this is what’s going viral … the word “Texas” with the “T” in the middle of it spells “Tetas.”
Let’s take a trip to Virginia, where a high school track and field meet escalated into violence after an athlete allegedly assaulted her opponent by blasting them on the head with a baton in the middle of a relay race.
You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?
Some of the characters in this story aren’t going to make it to the end.
Unless you make the inner circle, you’re probably going to have to go, or at least wait a long time to get me to do something with you.
The introvert joke says that people die in my autobiography, but I’m not going to kill anyone. It’s more like avoiding them until they go away or just keep saying no to doing shit together that I don’t want to do.
Never bet against Donald J Trump, especially not with paid amateurs like this crop. They never knew they were being used by Soros and Biden, but found out.
Life works both ways. They just had no idea. That’s how bad the deep state really is/was.
Liberals confiscate the wealth we create and waste it in disgusting ways not only at the federal level. DOGE has inspired independent patriots to investigate government spending more locally:
Tens of thousands of dollars of taxpayer money were given to a Seattle foundation that supports bondage programming and “jack-off clubs” where members can “share masturbation and mutual touch in an open, group setting.” Volunteers, calling themselves WA DOGE, revealed that Washington’s Arts Commission gave the funds to the Pan Eros Foundation, an organization that “celebrates and cultivates consent & sexuality through the arts & education for all.”
I don’t know, I didn’t watch it, but here’s what happened. The players even said it sucked
NBA All-Star Weekend is so cooked.
When it comes to the league’s annual event, it’s no secret that a lot of people have lost interest, and to the NBA fans who still exist, there’s a lot of grumblings among them. And those grumblings and lack of interest get worse and worse as time goes along.
In an attempt to fix up things, or at least put a Band-Aid on it, the league decided to try out a four-team tournament this year that would replace the typical All-Star Game.
The four squads competing were picked by the co-hosts of “Inside the NBA,” playing in games where the team who reaches 40 points first is the winner. It ended up being Team Shaq vs. Team Charles Barkley in the championship, with Team Shaq getting the victory that absolutely nobody cared about.
The product was horrible, and I mean horrible. So horrible that Los Angeles Lakers superstar LeBron James didn’t even play Sunday. It was that bad.
Hell, it was so terrible that Golden State Warriors power forward Draymond Green straight up said it “sucks” right on live national television. My man didn’t give a damn!
A woman in the driver’s seat of the front car then steps out and delivers an eloquent soliloquy on the dangers of imprudent vehicular navigation straight out of a modern remake of Shakespeare’s “Tempest.”
“Let’s go! Get out of the f***ing car! You were riding my f***ing a**! Get out of the f***ing car there, b****!” the woman screams to the driver of the red car. “Get out! Get out!”
It can’t be heard what the driver of the car said, but she responded, “I didn’t touch your f***ing car, b****!” At that point, a man got out of the driver’s side of the red car to calm the situation down.
“Come and touch me … come and put your f***ing hands on me! I ain’t drivin’ crazy! Your b**** was on my g*****n a**!” so sayeth our cultured protagonist.
The man did not put his hands on her, so she obliged by … telling him to get out of her face, and when he did, punching him in the face.
Given biological differences between the genders and the fact that crazy people don’t necessarily make for the wisest, most prudent street-fighters, you can probably guess what happened next:
Like always, she got her ass kicked when she thought she could take a guy. It’s why we don’t believe that girls are really hero’s because shit like this always happens. They watch Black Widow or the Flag Football commercial at the Super Bowl and think they aren’t going to get an ass whooping.
t’s not as easy as you would think for OnlyFans models to land a date for Valentine’s Day. In fact, one content creator has struck out every year for a decade.
Erika Amore hasn’t been able to end her Valentine’s Day slump, and she knows exactly the reasons why. The first two reasons on the top of the list, she tells TMZ, are her 36K boobs.
How do her enormous boobs play into not being able to date? Good question. It turns out that the men she’s come in contact with don’t take her seriously.
Amore becomes more of a fetish to them than an actual date. In other words, they have a hard time getting past her boobs.
They treat them like “a shiny new toy,” one they toss aside when they’re finished. She says some of the guys she’s met are completely obsessed with them.
This might be the last best of for a while so enjoy. The regular new stuff will be here going forward, but don’t be surprised if you see a part 10 some time.
This happened around 1984 when you’d get kicked out of a place and likely arrested for being in a girl’s restroom.
I went out with Tracy for a brief time in my mid-20s. She was the girl that introduced me to the term sport fucking. I thought that was only something guys did, but she didn’t have any problems with it. For her, it was going out, picking a guy and giving him the goods, no strings attached.
She didn’t have any problems with one-night stands if she wanted one and was down for just about anything. Even though she loved head, her technique wasn’t that great, but who’s going to kick a gift horse in the mouth?
She also didn’t have any problems flashing her tits at a school bus of boy scouts while at a stop light either. That was a busload of boys who I’m sure rubbed one out for the next month given the show she and her girlfriend who was in on the prank put on for them.
How It Started
I met her at Fantasy Fest in Key West. She came as my then roommate Al’s guest for the weekend. They weren’t dating, rather just there for fun and we all stayed in the same house.
There was a girl sunbathing topless on the beach and Al woke up at 1 am later that night to her pleasuring herself while describing the plentiful size of the (then med school) girl’s boobs. I’d seen them on the beach also and they were spectacular. I even talked to said girl during the party on the street and she had a boyfriend or I would have made the move.
I dressed as Dr Strangelove, a gynecologist. I had a metal speculum that I clicked for the girls on the street. About 2 steps past me, every one of them turned around and said, “I know what that is!”. It was a good joke for all.
Al told me they weren’t an item, she was just available and liked to give it up. He had no problems with me getting a piece of the action when we got back home as she wasn’t marriage material. It was satirically funny that her first marriage was to a guy whose last name was Tracy, making her Tracy Tracy.
The Bathroom
I decided to take her to Bennigan’s for dinner. It was dinner and sex and was pretty well agreed on up front by both parties (sport fucking for her). The restaurant was empty as it was a weekday except for us and a party of girls going out after work for dinner and booze. They were loud and I’m guessing about 10 of them at one table drinking margaritas.
As things go, I had to hit the men’s room. When I excused myself, Tracy said let’s go to the girl’s room. At the risk of getting kicked out for untoward behavior, I agreed. I’d been in a girl’s room, but when it was closed off for cleaning. I was young and stupid and it seemed worth the risk.
To my relief, there was no one in there so we walked through the powder room, went into the same stall and both relieved ourselves.
I was a few drinks down so was pretty happy with myself for the bold move, all the while hoping that we’d be soon walking out nonetheless for wear and also not kicked out as we hadn’t eaten yet.
Just about that time, all 10 of the girls from the other table came in. Girls go to the bathroom together. Even Tracy kind of got worried so I stood on the toilet seat while her legs and girls’ shoes were visible below the stall door.
The girls took up every stall and all started going at once. 10 girls peeing together sounded like Niagra Falls. Tracy and I were trying not to laugh at the situation and were just going to wait it out until the crowd left. Then we’d celebrate what we were getting away with. She was a giggler though and I was sure we would be made. I could see my picture in the paper, busted and my burgeoning career derailed for unbecoming behavior.
Instead of just heading back to the table, the girls assembled in the powder room to fix their makeup. Girls going to the bathroom together can take forever and never shut up. They made a lot of noise yapping about a lot of things they would have wished I didn’t hear about.
Finally, it seemed like the coast was clear and we agreed to walk out and try to make it back to our table instead of the back of a police car.
Thinking they were all gone and back at their table, we decided to make our break.
I decided that if I was going to be arrested, I was going to do it in style, so I walked out of the stall as if I owned the joint. In passing through the powder room, there were still a couple of stragglers and I got the look of a nice Sunday surprise. I made eye contact with one of them and her mouth dropped open.
As it turned out, we had to walk by their table to get to ours and at least 7 were sitting down, but knew what happened in there. Their table faced the women’s restroom and they saw me come out after they were done. I walked right past them and grinned and even caught a couple of laughs from their table. Their margaritas had taken their effect, fortunately.
Our dinner came out and we ate and left, albeit faster than we normally would have. It was somewhere between not wanting to see a cop car and wanting to get back to her apartment for some sport fucking.
At the end of the day, I don’t think anyone really gave a shit. The other girls had a story to tell, it got Tracy all excited, which worked for my libido and I got stuck in a girl’s bathroom for 15 minutes with 10 other women.
We didn’t last long being a couple as I was in a time of life when girls regularly came in and out of it. Neither of us cared. We didn’t have any feelings for each other (besides some youthful lust) and I even went back for seconds on several booty calls.
Those were the days I was single, then I got married. See Marriage Monday memes to get a feel for that.
It’s one thing to send the text to the wrong number, but it’s a whole other thing when you accidentally text law enforcement, thinking it’s someone who will supply you with narcotics.
A Florida woman was busted after accidentally texting a sheriff, thinking it was her drug dealer.
How stupid was 2024? Let’s start with the art world, which over the centuries has given humanity so many beautiful, timeless masterpieces. This year, the biggest story involving art, by far, was that a cryptocurrency businessman paid $6.2 million at a Sotheby’s auction for . . . A banana. Which he ate. ”It’s much better than other bananas,” he told the press. And that was not the stupidest thing that happened in 2024. It might not even crack the top ten. Because this was also a year when: —The Olympics awarded medals for breakdancing. —Fully grown adults got into fights in Target stores over Stanley brand drinking cups, which are part of the national obsession with hydration that causes many Americans to carry large-capacity beverage containers at all times, as if they’re setting off on a trek across the Sahara instead of going to Trader Joe’s. —Despite multiple instances of property damage, injury and even death, expectant couples continued to insist on revealing the genders of their unborn children by blowing things up, instead of simply telling people. —The number of people who identify as “influencers” continued to grow exponentially, which means that unless we find a cure, within ten years everybody on the planet will be trying to make a living by influencing everybody else. —Hundreds of millions of Americans set all their clocks ahead in March, then set them all back in November, without having the faintest idea why. (Granted, Americans do this every year; we’re just pointing out that it’s stupid.) But what made 2024 truly special, in terms of sustained idiocy, was that it was an election year. This meant that day after day, month after month, the average American voter was subjected to a relentless gushing spew of campaign messaging created by political professionals who—no matter what side they’re on—all share one unshakeable core belief, which is that the average American voter has the intellectual capacity of a potted fern. It was a brutal, depressing slog, and it felt as though it would never end. In fact it may still be going on in California, a state that apparently tabulates its ballots on a defective Etch-a-Sketch. For most of us, though, the elections, and this insane year, are finally over. But before we move on to whatever (God help us) lies ahead, let’s ingest our anti-nausea medication and take one last cringing look back at the events of 2024, starting with… JANUARY …when the nation finds itself trapped in a 1970s slasher movie, the kind in which some teenagers — played by the major political parties—are in a creepy house, being pursued by a terrifying entity, played by a rerun of the 2020 presidential election. The only sane thing for the teenagers to do is get the hell out of there, but instead they pause by the dark, scary-looking doorway leading down to the basement, and despite the fact that the theater audience—played by the American public—is shouting “DON’T GO DOWN THERE! JUST LEAVE THE HOUSE YOU IDIOTS!”, the teenagers decide to go down into the basement, only to find “OH GOD NOOOOOO…” And so, thanks to our political system—under which the nominees for the most powerful office in the world are chosen by approximately 73 people in approximately four rural states while the vast majority of Americans are still taking down their Christmas decorations—we once again find ourselves facing a choice between Joe Biden and Donald Trump. Both candidates carry baggage. Trump is wanted on criminal charges in something like 23 states and, if elected, could become the first president to govern from a secret hideout. His speeches are sounding increasingly unhinged, which is no small feat since he did not sound particularly hinged in the first place. For his part, President Biden keeps saying words that do not appear in any known human language and gives the impression that any day now he’s going to shuffle into a state dinner wearing only a bathrobe. But not necessarily his bathrobe. In other words, we have one candidate who lost the last election but claims he won it, and another candidate who won the last election but might not remember what year that was. America, the choice is yours!
Meanwhile the nation is facing a number of serious problems. Foremost among them is the situation on the border with Mexico, which at one time was a legally separate nation from the United States but is now basically functioning as a vestibule. This has resulted in a tense confrontation between the federal government and Texas, which is alarming because, in the words of one military analyst, “Texas has way more guns.” In government news, the Pentagon is harshly criticized for taking more than three days to notify the White House that Defense Secretary Lloyd J. Austin III had been hospitalized. This prompts the administration to check up on the rest of the cabinet, only to discover that at least four other secretaries are missing, and the Secretary of Commerce apparently died three years ago. Abroad, fighting continues to rage in both Ukraine and Gaza, although these conflicts are no longer getting a ton of attention in the U.S. media because of all the news being generated by Taylor Swift. In a troubling aviation incident, an Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 Max 9 flying at 16,000 feet suddenly develops a refrigerator-sized hole in the fuselage when an improperly attached panel blows off, terrifying passengers who have reason to wonder whether the airline crew, instead of making a big deal about the position of everybody’s tray table, should maybe be checking to see if the plane has been correctly bolted together. As a safety precaution, the Federal Aviation Administration grounds all Max 9s and advises passengers on other Boeing aircraft to “avoid sitting near windows.” For its part, Boeing states that “at least the plane didn’t lose a really important part, like one of the whaddycallits, wings.” Here’s a rare shot of a Boeing 737 in flight with all the parts still attached. Here’s a rare shot of a Boeing 737 in flight with all the parts still attached. Jeremy Dwyer-Lindgren/Special to USA TODAY Speaking of big corporations making questionable products, in…
Marriage Monday Memes – I thought this was one of the better ones, although I had to explain the pineapple juice reference to one of my friends. That tells me what I needed to know about his wife without him saying so.
A horse and a chicken grew up together on the farm and were the best friends. They went everywhere together. One day, the horse waded into the pond to get a drink, and he realized that his feet were stuck in the mud and that he was sinking. He yelled for the chicken and said,
“I’m stuck in the mud and sinking, go get help, go get the farmer!”
The chicken ran to the house and, realizing the farmer wasn’t home, grabbed the Porshe keys, drove down by the barn, got a length of rope, sped back to the pond, tied the rope to the bumper of the car, threw the other end to the horse, and pulled the horse out of the water.
A couple of weeks later the chicken stepped into a mud puddle in the farm yard and realized that her feet were stuck and that she was sinking.
She hollered for the horse, “Go get the car!”
The horse said, “I don’t need the car.”
He stepped over the mud puddle, straddled it with one foot on each edge, and said, “grab my pecker and pull yourself out.”
The moral of this story is: If you’re hung like a horse, you don’t need a Porsche to pick up chicks.
Flames and torment aside, one imagines Hell as a place where lies prevail at all times.
For instance, imagine a situation in which an elderly man with a well-earned reputation for creepy behavior occupied the most powerful station in the world, and everyone around him knew that his severely diminished cognitive abilities not only prevented him from carrying out his official functions but had removed any theoretical restraints on said behavior, but they pretended otherwise, not only by continuing to trot him out in public but by referring to him, unironically, as “Mr. President.”
Such thoughts leap to mind when one sees a ridiculous new Christmas photo taken at the White House and posted Wednesday to the social media platform Instagram by 73-year-old actress Lynda Carter, who famously played the title role in the 1970s television series “Wonder Woman.”
In the photo, the 82-year-old President Joe Biden stood as close as possible to Carter.
Thus, Carter’s Instagram followers generally gushed over the photo. But not all of them did.
“Why is Jill a mile apart from her husband?” one Instagram user wrote.
“But did you get sniffed?” another wrote, referring to the president’s well-documented propensity for sniffing women and children.
Meanwhile, X users found the photo and had a field day with it.
“Bwahahahaha!!!!! Looks like Biden is a fan of WonderWoman as well! Go on a get a sniff while you’re all in her space!!” one X user wrote.
Walmart employees at certain U.S. stores were given body cameras to wear as part of a pilot program, CNBC reported Tuesday.
It is unclear how many Walmart locations have placed body cameras on store-level associates. Witnesses and images distributed online showed signs at entry points to locations warning shoppers that it has “body-worn cameras in use,” according to the outlet.
The red flags used to be tattooed (especially helter-skelter instead of artistic), hair dyed an unnatural color (green, pink, purple), excessive piercings, and cats.
The problem was that some of these girls might actually have been ok (all right, single digits).
Now, there is a 100% test for a girl who is certifiably nuts and you should avoid
In my younger days, I was passionate about fishing. At the time, I was inland so lake fishing was my only real weekend option, so I was all in. I was good with catching anything, but bass and stripers were at the top of the food chain.
One winter day, my fishing buddy (read he had a boat and I didn’t) Brian called me up and said let’s go. I checked the weather report and it was going to be in the 30’s, but I had nothing to do so my dumbass bundled up and went out on the lake.
I knew damn well that the fish had lockjaw under 40 degrees, but away we went, at zero dark thirty o’clock.
I figured it would be a day of casting practice and not catching, but that never stopped a fisherman. The ride to the perfect spot is never short, so we blasted through the freezing air as fast as the bass boat could go. No sense in going at a reasonable speed. I had to wait once we got there just to de-ice.
Here’s where the story begins.
At some point, the coffee went through me and I had to piss. I waited as long as I could so that when I reached the moment of truth, I could actually go.
So here I am on the back of the boat about ready to bust and now I have to take off a jacket, gloves, a pair of Ski pants, long johns, thermal underwear, and finally try to find my dick.
It was all (relatively) warm at about 32 degrees, but once my dick hit the freezing air, it revolted and said not today Jack. As I said, I was at the moment of truth and had to go. I was hoping for a huge stream to get it over with and not piss on the boat because then I’d have to stick my hand in the freezing water to wash it off.
After digging through all of my clothes and trying to get ready to force it out, My dick tried to crawl inside my body. It gave a weak effort, so I’m trying not to piss on my clothes, the boat, and trying to hit the water instead of everything else. I managed to get it done, but I don’t recall my dick being that cold ever before. It even revoted when I had to grab it with freezing fingers.
As for fishing, on a day we should have been skunked, I slayed the bass. I seemed to throw the right lure in the right place all day. I caught them off of stumps, on the spawning beds, on crankbaits, and on worms.
It was a helluva day fishing, but a terrible time trying to take a leak. I think that was the last time I tried that, although I’ve spent plenty of time in a tree stand hunting deer and trying not to piss.
Delusions of Adequacy 