Ross

Sleep tight. Comin' after the rest of your brackets tomorrow like...

Not gonna tell y’all what I thought this ad was for, but you agree that Mint and Lily needs to be less ambiguous, right?

NOLA calling JG Wentworth. No budgeting-ass city.

My Michigan State +1.5 bet:

I’m convinced Ronny Chieng is the new George Carlin of our generation.

Ack-shu-wally regret making too much sauce. It’s too good. And I have nothing to put it on.

Made this tonight (with some adjustments) and my wife proposed to me and requested a second wedding ceremony to demonstrate her love. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

My favorite thing about the DENSE blanket of republican mailers I’ve gotten the last three weeks is the starter message: “Democrats are turning out in record numbers…” Like the idea of democrats actually voting in this state is terrifying. In a fucking primary. Runnin’ scared.

“Have you been looking for a welcoming community where it’s not just tolerated to center your whole identity around getting pants-shittingly mad about things that don’t matter - that’s the masculine ideal? Well, Buddy, I’ve got a halftime show for you.”

My favorite halftime show is always gonna be the one where The Rock fought Mick Foley in an empty arena, obliterated the catering area, threw salsa in Foley’s eyes, then shouted “this is mild, you pussy” when Foley screamed. UMYF youth group SB party with our pastor at her home.

That was fun. Wonder how the YouTube show went.

Jon Bon Jovi morphing into Ashley Schafer?

Can’t believe they released the Epstein files to cover up for the Melania movie.

“Goated, my boy!” @CornPuzzle @talkhoops

FUCK THE SNOWING

Buddy, I’m always gonna err on the side of fuck this bullshit. If you’re on the side of this bullshit, then move.

A self-own in three acts:

Anybody else have a step stool collapse beneath them while taking down Christmas lights, spilling them into a dormant rose bush that’s all thorns today? Just me? Hell yeah, 2026.

Me at preschool dropoff with my son before the Fiesta Bowl.

Hit, stick, bust dick. And what?

FCS title game got blitzed on everclear and koolaid, stole its momma’s keys and drove her ‘98 Caravan through a dozen mailboxes and the front of a Burger King, then puked on the arresting officer’s shoes and face planted when its proffered high-five was dodged. Perfect game.