Jason Sweeney

Great job, boys. You still did us proud.

SO MUCH HUSTLE

You know what you did.

Cmon, Aves.

I didn’t do too much.

A picture of a blue jay

Screengrab of text on screen that reads “Please give her two servings of white wine — the man next to her smells and snores”

My wife let me have the window on our flight today. Which put her next to a guy in the aisle seat who fell asleep in full man-spread for most of the flight. I took care of her though. (And made our flight attendant snort.)

wooooooooohooooooooooooo

If you're asking about the sound my cat makes when he sneezes, it's still adorable.

Mwuahahahahaha.

And also to you. Blessed be the Coke fizz.

You need to turn your gaze upon “A Thousand Blows”.

Mafia boss wants me to get rid of a Gen Z snitch. I drive him out to the Las Vegas desert at gunpoint but he refuses to dig his own grave. The kids don't want to work!

Just rolling it from wall to wall.

I am also a fan of the house I store my wheel in.

Goddammit, Jay. We talked about this.

Only we’re allowed to say that.

The nerve of it.

Rory, the black cat that rule the whole world, looks at a birthday cake with suspicion.

NO RORY! IT’S MY CAKE!

PATRIOT
PATRIOT
PATRIOT
PATRIOT
PATRIOT

I know I've grown as a husband because I don't offer to reorganize my wife's home screens.

Anymore.

Hollywood cranks out endless remakes, reboots, and retreads. But then along comes a film like WEAPONS and you remember what it feels like to have something totally NEW get your adrenaline pumping. Fuuuuuuuuck. So good.

I feel like you post Sloan lyrics to get proof-of-life from me.

"There are three kinds of magic," said Wizzler, handing us each a balloon. "You can control tigers, you can shoot tornadoes from your fingers, or you can fly by holding your breath. The color of confetti inside your balloon will reveal which kind of power you have." I felt the panic rising in me. What if my confetti turned yellow, indicating that I was a Tiger-Talker? My family, a long line of proud Tornado-Fingers, would disown me. Could I ever return home, bearing such shame? I tried to calm myself as I readied the ceremonial safety pin. Green, I thought, willing my hopes into reality. Please be green. I popped the balloon, involuntarily shutting my eyes. When I opened them, would I see the green I hoped for? The yellow I feared? What if, gods forbid, the confetti were blue? I opened my eyes, seeing shock on the faces of my classmates. Wizzler himself stared at me, wide-eye. Looking down, I saw myself covered in confetti... purple confetti.

“I don’t understand,” I growled, my body trembling with pain. “I combined eighty percent Earth-elemental mana with twenty percent Fire-elemental mana (Type B), focused through a twenty-four-sided icositetragon made of yellow topaz. This, in conjunction with my blood type, star sign, sense of humor, and nickname, should have produced a blazing column of lightning to vaporize my enemies. Instead, it made a big bubble that smells like fresh laundry. Why?” Skullgrumbler began to laugh. “You fool! You don’t even realize…” he squealed. “You’re facing east!”

“It’s whatever you want,” explained Magemaster Grampledog. “Magic is just whatever you want.” I knew he was speaking in riddles, but I couldn’t grasp his hidden meaning. “So the rules are…” Grampledog lit a sliver of smokereed. “No rules. You say some words and you wave a stick and whatever you want just happens. You don’t even need the stick.” His wisdom still eluded me. I stared into his face, trying to decipher what he was really saying. “No, listen.” Grampledog snapped his fingers and his desk turned into a pile of chicken nuggets. “I didn’t even know that would happen.” His hat then came alive and began to yodel. “It’s pandemonium,” he explained. “It’s complete nonsense.”

In my experience there are three kinds of fantasy magic novels:

I was at first horrified. Then realized you have beauty waiting in your future.

GOOD LUCK! STAY SAFE! TRY TO NAP!

Benjamin Sisko: Mall Cop

Me: Fellate a minion? Yes please!
Snooty waiter: It’s pronounced filet mignon.

I’m petrified about today’s science news. Genetically modifying crabs to have cheetah genes? This could go sideways fast.