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Call me desensitized, but the only thing that really keeps me tapped in for My Favorite Celebrity is to see them risk it all—day after day, for months on end.
I urgently need your help after my latest extravagant shindig has left my estate in shambles. Look here, old sports.
"Existential Risk": You testified before Congress that this technology could end humanity. You also had a product launch that Thursday and it went great.
What makes the spills so frequent, the meets so cute? Is it the cheap, lopsided mugs?
What, because I talk funny? Because I called your saloon a coworking pod? Because I palo santoed your game of Texas hold ‘em?
“Oh. Well, I could try to grow a beard?” the Beast offers. “It’s just that it usually comes in kind of patchy."
Let’s call it a reverse Turing Test designed to plumb the depths of human stupidity.
Hot Foods in the Wintertime or Cold Foods in the Summertime: This one’s a real bummer.
I’m inconveniently tiny. Inexplicably tiny. Infuriatingly tiny. If you didn’t have anger issues before, you do now.
What is the probability that at least one participant is both caffeinated and chatty?
This is my way of telling you at home, bald and not camera ready, that your safety means more to me than my hair.
I don’t want you to fight for me. Believe me, a disproportionate amount of effort will be needed to capture me. I need you to know that I am not worth it.