"Did Google Molest Her Child?"

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Webster's Dictionary defines commenting as what you do when you are sitting at your desk and your eyes feel like they might fall out because you have been looking at the same spreadsheet for an hour but all you can see is a view of the grass from the porch of your friend's college apartment where you used to get drunk and stoned and feel great about life so you decide to let go of the spreadsheet for a minute or two or sixty. Or, you know, it's just something silly and fun. Whatever. After the jump, find our five favorite from this week.

From Nard38 in Life Is Not a Fairytale:
"Gay Hulk sad. No smash today. Just sit, think."
From La Cieca in Jakob Lodwick Thinks He's Diluting Mary Rambin's Brand:
"'I'm diluting your brand' is the new 'I'm crushing your head.'
From Clarence Rosario in Smoking Ban Making New York Dangerously Fat, Uncool:
"With the value of the dollar these days, it only feels like 5 million pounds." [Thanks, Rebecca!]
From Dickdogfood in Vice Magazine Changes Everything as Usual:
"The fashion choices of early 70's high school students: ultimately not that interesting." [Thanks, Hamilton!]
From raphaela in Once Your Children Learn How to Google the Universe is the Limit:
"Did Google molest her child?
When I was 5, I found a Hustler magazine on a playground. Rather than being traumatized, I was just confused as to why the lady had on no clothes other than socks and a hat. It's too bad my mother didn't have a resource to turn to, to talk about what had happened to me. Then maybe I wouldn't have this weird sock and hat fetish."

Your Party Pick this week went to a commenter who's been mostly absent of late, LolCait, who rambled incoherently and at ridiculous length in Washington Post Not Brought to You by the Letter F:
"How about MIWLMAPSAAS. SWBTRWFBH. AMIASW. WWGSCNSGDSBNSSABIWCCWWMLBMVAISMTWHRI. BTRWSISWCSWIDHBHC. WWSEOOMWAKSR. SWGMTTBLTYHHHMIWFWPPPIM. TNDIWLSFNR.

Mother I Would Like to Meet At the Parents' Social At Aubrey's School. She Will Be Thin and Regal, With Flat Brown Hair. A More Inward and Angular Sigourney Weaver. We Will Go to a Small Cafe Near the School and Get Drunk on Sauvignon Blanc and We Will Remember the Nineteen Seventies and She Will Talk About Barnard and I Will Condemn Cornell and We Will Make Love in the Back of My Volvo And It Will Seem for a Moment That the World Has Righted Itself. But Then the Reality Will Set In and She Will Cry Softly While I Drive Her Back to Her Car. We Will See Each Other Once More, in the Winter, At the Kids' School Recital. She Will Give Me That Terse, Brittle Look That the Years Have Helped Her Master and I Will Feel the Weight of People and Places Pressing Into Me. The Next Day I Will Leave for Santa Fe and Never Return. "

Good job, everyone! Cait, I miss you.