You have to invite someone like Tucker Carlson into your home. They can't get in any other way. They aren't like other vermin. They are larger and do not generally chew through wood.
There used to be a lot of weird, kinky stuff going on at the old Madison place. Not so much any longer. Changing times.
It used to be that you went out trick or treating on Halloween and the worst thing that happened to you was razor blades in apples. Now you have to worry about being lured into houses that are set up like elaborate, semi-automated psychological torture centers. Thankfully, the pandemic brought an end to that.
If someone calls you a "modern day Murphy Brown," hang up the phone. If they are saying this to you in person, a fist to the face is permissible under these circumstances. This has the Good Housekeeping seal of approval, which was a big deal back in the 1970s.
What I would like to see happen more often is having a gang of rough kids lured into a theater to see something they think is a horror movie called Daughter of the Puppet Master, but it turns out to be a very slow moving romantic period piece that takes place in France in the 1780s. And they have been given a paralytic agent that will last the duration of the movie. Time's up, fellas.
Imagine waking up one day and having something terribly wrong with your testicles. Bear with me here. Imagine it. If you do not, under normal circumstances], have testicles, imagine two have appeared, moving around inside your breasts liberally. Fun to do.
You could walk into damn near any small town in the American southeast, start telling a story about how "just south of here is where General Jefferson Clinkscale fought his final battle," and have 95% of the dullards hanging on every dripping word. And you will be dripping. Especially if you are in lieu of testicles. Which have now gone missing.
What was the last place you had them?
No one goes to the movies for edification any longer. Sad.
Back in the 1970s, you took a woman to an emotional movie before taking her home and trampling all over her emotions. Shit was like a Neil Simon play. I swear.
Life imitates art. Leondardo immitated Art. They didn't get along, although they put on a very different public persona (someone should node that).
Reverse cowgirl is shorthand for adios, folks.