Paul M

I shouldn't let it get to me, but the way they call the Superbowl winners 'world champions' proper itches my shit. No, lads. No.

Gordon Greenidge with Grace Mendoza at Lord's, June 1976. Mrs Mendoza was stuck on the knee by a shot from Greenidge on the second day of the 2nd Test and needed hospital treatment. She asked to meet Greenidge to discuss the incident

Not sure anyone has ever been this washed.

This would absolutely make my day.

Well, it is difficult to suck his dick remotely.

Pepysing Tom. Let's cancel him!

Such a good series, that.

100%. Would feed his 'tough guy' self-image as well.

Same genre as when those prancing fucking matador idiots get one right through the arse or something while torturing a dying animal. Just wonderful times.

Best possible outcome of the situation that arsehole put himself in.

Genuinely cheered me up.

Strong this. It's terrible now, but wait until the competitive authoritarianism really kicks in.

hahahahah

Delicious. Genuinely laughed out loud.

Don't go out shooting innocent animals to compensate for your threadbare soul and tiny penis, I suppose. Here endeth the lesson.

This is superb news.

Not just karma, hilarious karma.

www.astleybookfarm.com

Because of the peril!

It's called (accurately) the book barn, as it's a load of converted farm buildings stuffed with second-hand books. I have to ration my visits as I have pathetic impulse control.

Exactly. People give up on things too quickly these days.

Banned myself from discretionary spend this month, and then bought a giant Vollmann book for 25 quid. Then went to the second-hand bookshop place at the weekend and banged another 35 quid out. It's an addiction, honestly.

Some mild water damage there.

The boost we all need. Do it Donny!

I'd book a week off to celebrate.

Trump on the roof of the Whitehouse with the logo from Fiddler on the roof above him.

I didn't know they were making a new version

Pls jump. And make sure you land head first.

The Engines and Empires of New York City Gambling As plans are laid for a new casino, one can trace, through four figures, a history of rivalry and excess, rife with collisions of character and crime.

www.newyorker.com/magazine/202...

Not just one, a triptych.

As usual, Louise does better photography than me 😠