Is this what passes for genius these days? Oh man, gotta get from this short-ass perch to right there—right there—on that carpeted floor. Better rearrange the whole goddamn bed situation. Guy probably needs crampons and a hundred feet of rope to get back on the bed.
On his recent visit to Philadelphia, Pope Francis looked his younger self in the eye, remembering the childlike wonder with which he used to see the world before he grew into a man, rose through the ranks of the Church, and came to bear the strictures, hopes, and aspirations of an entire religion on his aging shoulders.
Kim Kardashian is currently pregnant with her second child. This is great for Kim and Kanye West and also me personally, because Kim likes to share. While more guarded celebrities have gone to great lengths to conceal the havoc pregnancy wreaks on their otherwise flawless bodies, Kim is real—and a real wellspring of information.
It’s safe, at this point, to say that presidential candidate and human Kewpie doll Donald Trump is not a fan of Mexico or its people. But surely he has some begrudging respect—or even admiration—for women with functioning breasts? It might surprise you to learn—or maybe it won’t—but he’s not a fan of those either.
At last: proof that the familiar impulse you feel upon hearing Rage Against the Machine—to strip naked, wrap yourself in an American flag, shatter the nearest window, roll around until the shards cover your tender flesh, wrap your body around a stranger, set yourselves a flame, then hurtle off a trampoline like a star-spangled porcupine bomb toward the nearest instrument of oppression—is an innate response, like sucking down air or recoiling when your hand touches a flame.
The mechanics of dressing a dead newborn are basic. The little girl’s face is white, lacking the flushed cheeks normally present in a newborn. She has a full head of hair and a button-type nose that makes you want to give her Eskimo kisses. Someone, probably a nurse, has put her in a onesie with yellow tulips embroidered along its Peter Pan collar. Livor mortis, but not rigor mortis had set in; the baby’s fingers are pliant and cold when I hook my finger into hers.