The next time you see that one Toyota commercial, imagine being the person who lives in this apartment, and waking up late on a Saturday morning to find this scene — a car parked diagonally across the middle of the intersection; a large, ethnically diverse crowd of young people in brightly colored clothing doing a choreographed dance routine around it in the street; loud laser music blasting through the air — taking place outside your window, with no idea why any of it is happening.
A hypo in my MPRE review lecture: PROBLEM NO. 3Attorneys Franklin and Bash hire Sandy, a third-year student at a local law school, to assist them as their clerk. Sandy is not licensed under any state law or court rule that allows third-year law students to engage in practice under the supervision of a licensed attorney. For which of the following tasks performed by Sandy are Franklin and Bash subject to discipline? Where is the hot tubs? The booze?
The correct answer to this question is: “Trick question. Bash is sleeping with the head of the Disciplinary Board. All charges dropped.”
In 1995, after Jordan returned to basketball from his year-and-a-half-long baseball sabbatical, he spent the summer in Hollywood making the movie “Space Jam,” but he demanded that the producers build a basketball court where he could work out every day. Old friends dropping by the Warner lot noticed that he was working particularly hard on a shot that was already a minor part of his repertoire but which he was now making a signature shot––a jumper where he held the ball, faked a move to the basket, and then, at the last minute, when he finally jumped, fell back slightly, giving himself almost perfect separation from the defensive player. Because of his jumping ability and his threat to drive, that shot was virtually unguardable.
Currently picturing Michael Jordan shooting thousands of fadeaways in his Tune Squad uniform.
About That Prince-Loving Elvis Impersonator Who Got Framed For Trying To Assassinate The President
GQ’s Wells Tower wrote one of my favorites pieces of the year back in February, and now he’s back with another longform masterpiece. Remember the story about the Prince superfan slash Elvis impersonator who was accused of mailing a ricin-covered letter to the president, only to be cleared when authorities figured out he was framed by a Tae Kwon Do instructor slash Mensa member? I don’t see how you could forget. Anyway, Tower gets the whole, nutty story, and in the process introduces us to a mutual enemy the two have: a cuss-loving funeral home director slash state representative — everyone in this story is at least two things, apparently — named Steve Holland.
Not long after Dutschke and Curtis’s unfriendly introduction in 2006, Dutschke mounted a campaign for state House district sixteen, against long-term Democratic incumbent Steve Holland. By all accounts, Dutschke’s PR strategy was little more than a public display of bitter, empty vitriol—its rhetoric revolving around comparisons of Steve Holland to Boss Hogg from the Dukes of Hazzard and suggestions that the 9/11 hijackers were Holland’s friends. Why Dutschke loathed Steve Holland so hotly is not clear.
“I had never stood eyeball to eyeball or dick to dick with the man, but for some reason he just hated the hell out of me,” says Holland, a gloriously profane and paradoxically genteel man of 58. “He called me everything from gay to communist. Everything but a child of God. I mean, he had no campaign or agenda except to cut my nuts out…. But you got to get your ass up early and go to bed late to beat my ass. I’ve held this seat for thirty years. I can absolutely make love to a bull moose on the steps of the Lee County courthouse and garner more than 5 percent of the vote.”
December 2001: Vince McMahon steps out of a snowy night into a diner in upstate New York for a meeting with old friend Phil Thomson, now a highly placed government official. Thomson has a strange proposition: creating a new covert black-ops group using the Superstars of World Wrestling Entertainment. The WWE’s talented men and women are perfect. Highly skilled athletes with the ideal cover, they travel all across the country and the globe; no one would find it unusual to find them in a town one day and gone the next. The government would train and support the wrestlers in every way possible except one: no one must know the truth.
March 2006: The Superstars have been handed their latest assignment — take down a commercial-grade methyl-amphetamine plant that is bankrolling terrorist activities in Europe. Their mission seems simple and straightforward, until a member of their team is taken prisoner. Now all that they’ve worked so hard for is in jeopardy, and one of their own might be killed…
Kickstarter: Help me purchase the rights to this book and fund a movie that I will write and direct. I’m begging you.
“One of my favorite things about the Air Bud movies is that there are conceivably real human children on the bench (or who were left off the team altogether) while a dog is running around on the field or court. I find that hilarious. I like to imagine these children explaining it to an overbearing father.”—
When we came out dripping from the underworld, a double-decker bus rolled past, but the driver paid no attention to our extremely conspicuous group emerging from a manhole at 2 a.m. We circled around the city again, Garrett restless, looking for something. He spied a ten-story construction site surrounded by chain-link and scaffolding. There was a small gap in the fence, just big enough to slip through. Garrett hauled himself effortlessly through to the scaffold. Wary of security guards and CCTV cameras, I followed as silently and elegantly as a bear clambering into a Dumpster. We made our way up an internal stairwell to the roof and onto the ladder of a massive construction crane. Finally we were sitting right next to the control cabin 150 feet up, feet dangled over the void, London glittering to the horizon. Garrett pointed out landmarks, famous and less so: Big Ben, the Eye, the Shard, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Gherkin, the Walkie-Talkie, King’s Reach Tower. The names sounded like constellations or rock-climbing routes. In fact, he had summited most of them.
So if you need to kill some time before kickoff today, there you go.
Given your pseudonym and all the great work that has been done under it (i.e. breakdowns of music videos, Franklin and Bash, SBTB, 90s movies), how will you explain what you've been doing for the past few years to potential employers? This is assuming you don't have a "real" job and are 100% earning a living as DG. Please provide a narrative of the real you and a potential employer reviewing the last few years of your life in an interview.
Potential Employer: So, I notice a hole in your resume for a few years after you finished law school…
There was only so much we could do when it became clear that Hurricane Irene was a really, really big deal, and that it would be sweeping up the East Coast and into the New York/New Jersey area on the 27th — which was, of course, the day toward which we’d worked and planned for the better part of the previous year. Everything was booked, the contracts set, the non-refundable deposits shelled out. Our immediate families had already started making their way to N.Y. for the rehearsal dinner. The venue was going to stay open barring an evacuation call by local authorities; the officiant and caterers were still in, too.
We knew for sure that our wedding was going to happen, but we also knew that it was going to be a very different day than the one we’d planned. The only question, then, was how many of the 150 or so* RSVP-ed guests would actually wind up making it**.
As of August 2013, the public had submitted 790 sightings to MyFWC.com/PantherSightings, where people can record when and where they saw a panther or its tracks, FWC said.
“Only 12 percent of the reports included a photograph and could be evaluated by Commission biologists. Of those with photos, the majority were confirmed as panthers. Other animals identified by FWC biologists were bobcats, foxes, coyotes, dogs, house cats and even a monkey. Most often the reported animal or tracks belonged to a bobcat, when it was not a panther.”
Shoutout to the Florida residents who submitted pictures of house cats to a website dedicated to panther sightings. Can’t be too careful, that’s what I always say.
Here's Why I Think DMX Should Start A Restaurant...
[NOTE: For full effect, please picture this as a very cheaply produced commercial for a restaurant called X’s Bar And Grill, featuring DMX holding a spatula and wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron and Swedish Chef hat]
Yeah, don’t get it twisted This grill shit is mine, motherfucker It’s NOT. A. FUCKING. GAME. Fuck what you cooked It’s what I’m grillin’ It’s what I’m grillin’ (Listen) It’s what I’m grillin’ (Listen) It’s what I’m grillin’ (Listen)
X gon grill it for ya Fuck waitin’ for you to cook it on your own X gon deliver to ya Knock knock, open up the door, it’s real With some burgers, hot dogs, and hearty meals Your mom say she cook legit But I make such a good steak I’ll make a motherfucker wonder how I did it
Damn right and I’ll do it again Next try a thigh of my Cajun chick-en Flatbreads with your friends and me And no matter how many cats you break bread with I’ll feed who you sendin’ me
You motherfuckers still wantin’ something? Like your wife said, y’all can pack it away Stay sittin’ down (DOWN) Cuz X got what you need Rollin’ out the kitchen with some tasty treats (WOO!) Please, if you haven’t sampled all my fresh-baked pie and cake Come out today