Shaving cream is made of stearic acid, triethanolamine, lanolin, glycerin, polyoxyethylene sorbitan monostearate and water.
Pal heard this driving home real late the other morning on WFAN. Think he said it was almost 4 a.m.
He’s still not sure whether this was a satirical call/voice doing that character in the Harvey Pekar biopic American Splendor or if it was Stephen’s genuine tone. Either way, for nothing else, it’s worth a listen to hear the way he annunciates “horses”.
PF Chang's waiter: "[Recites specials] Stephen A. Smith: (Acts surprised) "To me, that's preposterous. Crab Rangoon, things of that nature."
— David Roth (@david_j_roth) June 13, 2012
Smith acted in an episode of General Hospital in 2007. He played Brick.
Pal thinks Sour Shoes is a genius. Howard agrees.
So does Artie.
Pal wanted this here because it’s one of his favorite standup bits. Ever.
He also wants everyone to subscribe to the storyline that he routinely shuns hyperbolic proclamations. So.
Tom Papa is a writer and comedian from Passaic, New Jersey.
Pork prances through pellets of pelting precipitation and goes ham for the polarizing pissed patronage presiding impatiently on their pink personal palm pilots.
Pal likes the de Botton books and videos and all his mumbo jumbo about Proust. Apparently the Swiss is hawking these posters now. This particular one is stimulating and features the words of G.K. Chesterton, who was once slugged the “prince of paradox”. The nickname had everything to do with proverbs like these — sayings he would disembowel, bleed and hang.
If Jiro dreams of sushi, then Pal dreams of shortstops pitching in the majors.
It happened the other night when former Metropolitan Ruben Tejada took the ball from manager Mike Matheny and tossed a few hard ones toward the catcher’s dried-up steer carcass.
The days are much too bright but so is Tampa.
“I Got a Story to Tell” is a song that makes good on its promise.
The Notorious B.I.G. tells a story over a riffy beat about how he got with a woman who was dating a player on the New York Knicks. There’s much more to it, but that’s the gist. Plenty of details in between. The Brooklyn rapper died at the age of 24 in 1997, so we’re talking about Pat Riley’s Knicks here.
For years everyone thought the athlete in question was John Starks (Biggie mentions that he’s 6’5″ in the song). It was assumed.
Big Joe squashed that rumor probably for good the other day when he went on ESPN and said it was the late Anthony Mason. A brick house of a man with a handle like Stockton, a body like Malone and a penchant for etching messages into his closely-cropped hair. Continue reading
On Monday, Tiger Woods said publicly that he wasn’t ready to return to competitive golf. Then he ceremonially hit three tee shots in a row into the drink.
Right after some sandbagging, weekend hack mortgage lender stuck his ball on the green.
Imagine your pudgy, out-of-shape boss following a Michael Jordan missed layup with a furious windmill dunk. Or your labrador retriever besting Ken Jennings in FINAL JEOPARDY! Or your grandmother knocking out Evander Holyfield.
Pal says Eldrick is done. In fact, he was only a few miles from Congressional (where the presser/shots took place) and regrets not taking a trip over there. With a black suit on. And a couple of handkerchiefs. And condolences.
Or This …
It’s a bitter debate.
Dust Commander is the name of the horse that won the Kentucky Derby in 1970. Pal says his dam was Dust Storm and his sire was Bold Commander. Looked it up. He’s right.
Fact is though, few people today remember who won the race that year. What they do recall, and particularly fondly, is the story Dr. Hunter S. Thompson wrote while “watching” the race, titled “The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent & Depraved”. Read it.
Or watch/listen to the audiobook above. Or watch this ESPN doc on the subject.
It’s the furthest thing from cheapjack scum.
Pal found this sultry photograph in an Associated Press writeup. It shows actress Milana Vayntrub, famous for her cutesy role in commercials as an AT&T retail associate, “Lily”, and details her mission to help Syrian refugees while on vacation in Greece.
Pal said in the article it mentioned that Milana was once a refugee herself, in 1989, when she and her parents fled the former Soviet Union (Uzbekistan).
— Elizabeth Gumport (@elizabethgum) May 8, 2016
Baby pigeons are called “squabs.” They love ragtime player pianos and egg creams and Jack Dempsey and petroleum jelly.
On Saturday evening in San Diego, for one time only, the man from Altimira, Dominican Republic was alone with the gods.
And, his night flamed with fire.
Duck sauce is lollipop jism.
— uncle bobby (@KevinHobster) January 17, 2016
A fitting room is nothing but a North Korean bathroom stall.
— uncle bobby (@KevinHobster) March 5, 2016
Keyser Söze rooted for whichever team had its pennant on the wall behind you.
— uncle bobby (@KevinHobster) March 10, 2016
Farm to table to Bobby to toilet.
— uncle bobby (@KevinHobster) August 24, 2015
Reading Hunter Thompson letters will make you buy stamps.
Could be Mercury Retrograde. Could be the tides. Could be the migration. Could be pollen. Could be the water from the tap. Don’t worry. Nothing is fucked. We have brand new ones.
I AM THAT LOVE THAT I AM
MY PALM IS FULL OF JELLY
TOUCH THE MOON DARLIN’
A MILLION BAGS OF SUGAR
JUST GRIN, BABY
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Pal didn’t expect this.
He thought Yorke was regressing towards non-melodic chants over phony metallic synth beats, like a pale English Trent Reznor. He detailed a dream he had of Yorke reading aloud from his notebook of chorus-less trash to Jonny Greenwood as the guitarist sat in the parlor half-listening, head in the next Paul Thomas Anderson script about Jesus performing miracles as an aluminum siding salesman in 1960s Ohio. Jonny, without looking up, simply waved his hand in indifferent approval.
But no. That never happened. This is pretty. Even the plaything stop-motion stuff is confection.
Because it’s always sensible to avoid sounding like a jagoff.
If you plunked down $100 (about £68) on Leicester City to win the Premier League at a godforsaken Vegas sportsbook before the season started, you would’ve won a mountainous $500,000 (about £339,520) on Monday.
If Jonathan doesn’t pick up, pick up, Laurie sleeps, sleeps, sleeps in a coil.
— Jon Winokur (@AdviceToWriters) April 29, 2016
When Pal walks down to feed the ducks at the park, he doesn’t give them the whole loaf. He breaks it up and doles it out in small pieces. The thing is though, it’s not bread he’s divvying, but fodder he cooked up himself. Nosh that’s left the waddling waterbirds sleepless and corrupt.