baby eat that chicken slow... Nothing says bliss like having a twelve pound cat purring in your arms while you stand half a foot away from a TV and watch four hours of Gordon Downie getting off on stage, behind the scenes, making artistic farting noises, and other revealing things. I need to own "Hipeponymous". It doesn't seem just or fair or right in any way shape or form, no matter how I write it, think it, that my dad owns this and I do not.

I am Jack's burning envy and jealous green monster.

I am not a fan compelled to keep Mr. Downie's sweat in a vial around her neck, but rather one who would be quietly terrified to meet him in person, who would think of the perfect thing to say to him only after he'd left the room.

Holy fuck.

Everyone and their cat and goldfish needs to own this. Probably everyone does, except me.

This has been a rare superficial moment served up McDonald's style in a way that will surely kill you, but tastes like your momma's hot chocolate, by Emerson Emergency.  ¶ 1:36 AM