Randal Hendrickson

I can’t believe people are still using that women are from Venus, men from Mars bullshit framework. It’s time for an update. It’s time to dig in. Please see my latest, “Women be Shoppin: a Genealogy.”

The message is clear: wear a helmet when wiping your garbage. #TheMoreYouKnow

The president was friends with a child rapist, a likely participant in his child rapist ring, and mixed up in his child rapist files, but so were other prominent people, so we better not dwell on this. Anyway. Let’s get cane sugar in Coke, amirite?!

WSJ:

I don’t know, man. It all seems tricky. But I’d say if your face recalls “deep history” or “proto-human” more than “master race,” you ought to shop around for an ideology that wouldn’t seek to eliminate your line if it were being honest with itself.

Academic tough guy: “I’d like to host you for an evening at the Center for the Study of My Boot in Your Face. We very much hope to hear from you soon.”

I want to argue, but Charlie is the most Rock & Roll motherfucker I know. He wouldn’t just say this.

Looking for something non-oily that promises the mosquito a painful death and the knowledge that I’m going after his family when I’m done with him.

Grandma’s final prayer for me contained em dashes and used a “methinks.” WTF.

When I was little, Mom walked in on Dad using the A/C. She was devastated. They stayed together for the kids, but none of us was ever the same. Mom couldn’t process the betrayal, and we lived with the effects. Dad later overdosed on freon. Lives ruined.

Just powered through some sushi minutes ago, and I just thought to myself “I could go for a burger.” I think this means I’m turning into a beautiful swan.

Whatever is in those files is some grisly shit.

THIS IS BULLSHIT. Podopticon was locked out of consideration because I’ve been too slow to put out my conversation with @MattPolProf. This kind of thing won’t make me move faster, Time. Really, you’re only hurting Matt.

To the squirrel who looked me in the eye and dared me to run him over: I liked your spirit and would’ve done the same, but people were watching, and I have a reputation to uphold.

“Ah. Would you look at that. Fear of powers invisible. Who’d have thought? You know? 🖕” —Thomas Hobbes

Let him cook. I’ve seen him do this live. He arrives at a recognizable, yet novel, Montaignean conclusion. That’s to say, nods to “On Cannibals” are there, as the greats will communicate with each other, but Walsh surprises, fulfilling here a kind of Rousseauean promise. Bracing.

I got a different kind of secret sauce. I might model the excellence Nathan is looking for. I’m just too shy to approach big accounts with advice.

We tattooed some rubbing alcohol in to deal with a blowout. Pretty gnarly. I don’t know if it’s on the FDA’s radar, but it looks like it might work over time. Assuming the horror show bruising goes away and my arm doesn’t fall off, we might call this a win for folk science.

My note the landlord: “I knew you were a worm when I watched you try not to pay the plumber. I assume cutting you in half would just produce two worms, so I’m at a loss.” Wife’s edit: “Thanks so much. And best of luck with your next tenants.”

Ever notice that you can’t put a girl on a car anymore? They just slide right off. I hate what we’ve become.