Consider Matthew Pritchard, the shirtless 42-year-old man in the Instagram photo above. What might he be thinking? “I could use another Corona.” “I look great in these shades.” “Hours ago, I was emptying my willie onto the feet of world-renowned action star and martial artist Dolph Lundgren.”
I mean, can you imagine?
The World Naked Bike Ride, which is exactly what it sounds like, came to Kent, U.K., over the weekend, and the participants had barely got their kits off before organizers ejected a bloke for popping a stiffy.
Senator Lindsey Graham (R-John McCain’s sad shadow), a man loathed by conservatives for supporting immigration reform and loathed by non-conservatives for supporting all wars everywhere forever, is running for president. CNN reports that Graham “hopes that his track record on foreign affairs will give him the advantage in a wide-open primary fight.”
Following the rules for the entirety of your lifetime can get tiring. But if there’s anywhere on Earth where you should definitely swallow your pride and just follow the rules it’s a tourist park where lions roam free. If not, one might leap through your car window and murder you.
Undefeated welterweight world champ Floyd Mayweather was sued last September by his ex-fiancée, Shantel Jackson, who alleges he choked her, held her prisoner at gunpoint, and blackmailed her with nude photos he’d secretly taken while she slept. TMZ has obtained Mayweather’s texts to his ex, submitted as evidence in the suit, and they are extremely unsettling.
Weeks ago, reeling from a night of booze and bad decisions, I ventured to a local Bayou-themed restaurant in search of comfort food. I wanted to absorb the last of the alcohol that remained from just hours before, fully determined to get rid of my hangover. When you live alone, this is not an uncommon practice. I often eat out by myself—it’s hard to wait on friends to make brunch plans when all you want to do is devour a plate of syrup-coated waffles—so it wasn’t strange when the bartender and the gray-haired gentleman to my right decided to include me in their conversation. “What do you think?” he said. They had been discussing rising property values in the neighborhood, and the ills of gentrification. The bartender mentioned how a small patch of dirt between two brownstones, just blocks from the restaurant and my apartment, was going for $2 million. “There was also that old gas station in Crown Heights that sold for 30 million recently,” she said. “How is anybody expected to live here now? It’s just too much.”
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the chillest deer of them all? Chill deer.
If you needed to run yonder to Bessemer for that easement to cross Scuzz McWhorter’s field so’s you can dig up all the lead shot what gramma’s blasted out there from the kitchen porch over all these years, let it wait till Tuesday, son: Alabama done went down to the beach in honor of the Confederacy!
Tracy Morgan gave an emotional interview to The Today Show’s Matt Lauer this morning, the first since a Walmart truck crashed into his limo last June, severely injuring Morgan and killing his friend, the comedian James McNair. “The case is settled, but the pain is always going to be there for Jimmy Mac,” Morgan said. “Bones heal, but the loss of my friend will never heal.”
Technically, three key provisions of the Patriot Act governing what data the NSA can collect and how expired tonight after Rand Paul bested Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell at his own procedural game. Whether the NSA will actually stop while Congress attempts to pass a new bill is apparently another story.
Hey man—put your phone down. Because before you know it life is going to start passing you by, and then who knows, maybe you’ll even step on a snake and get bit!
