When you’re awake at 3am to consider the wasteland of your life here’s a way to look at death. Yes, he’s welcome; yes, he’s seductive; yes, he’s not wearing much; yes, you hope you cum together but still…

We never talk about it. We don’t make plans. We don’t display the deceased in the living room. Hospice is one thing but do we have a local café?

Is there honey still for tea?

NPR floats a trial casket.

I don’t care. JUST READ IT.

You’ll thank me.

Snorri Haraldson goes cod fishing.

In a move certain to provoke derision the Icelandic government is now considering a proposal to block all internet porn.

Reached for comment in Grndrfjordur, Stinque correspondent for all things viking Snorri Haraldson commented, ‘Dude, Þú þarft að draga það frá kulda, minn dauður hönd.’

And now there’s this cardinal.

Who said these things.

We’re all very shocked.

Is nothing sacred? Must Big Gay keep shoving gayness down everyone’s throat?

Now it turns out Benedict XXCIVXX (no relation) was forced to retire before it was revealed that the Vatican is not much more than a gay knocking shop for gay prelates to do gay things with gay escorts and gay priests and gay cardinals and other random gays. Semen on the host? Anything’s possible according to some kind of Italian Washington Times. See above linque.

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Rosie and Penny the Miracle Pug congratulate you bunch of losers dear sweet funny people for yet another year down the drain of trenchant fun.

Of course we couldn’t do it without noje. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

It’s Flo, the Christmas Boxer! She’s coming home tomorrow.

(After a week like we the one we just had I thought we could stand to look at something that doesn’t give press conferences then flounce off into the night. And when she shits on the floor it won’t require congress to agree to the clean-up)