You’ll never guess who picked another needless, pointless, irritating, childish, and ultimately losing fight on Twitter this weekend, Enthusiasts. C’mon, guess.
Thaaaaat’s right: the ghost of Benazir Bhutto. The late Prime Minister of Pakistan, who somehow is tweeting, came for Chrissy Teigen. And, as you know well, you simply do not come for Chrissy Teigen on social media.
Chrissy’s epic clapback against the assassinated leader is already a Twitter Moment and the source of several rather dank memes.
I told you to knock it off. Tell the nice people what’s happening in the world.
The hand of fate is afoot.
You’re right to supplicate. None of us might get out of this one alive.
Radical Islamic Terrorism?
What’s worse than RIT?
Oh, let’s not call it that.
Donald Trump picked a fight with sports.
No. Donald Trump picked a fight with sports. All of them. Which is impressive; very few presidents have managed to get into imbroglios with concepts before, but Donny’s a trailblazer. Bad Grandpa’s favorite teevee show of all time, Fox & Friends, ran a segment on football players kneeling during the National Anthem, so at his speech in Alabama a few hours later, Donny demanded that NFL owners fire any son of a bitch that knelt. The crowd cheered the loudest it had all evening, and so therefore he said it again the next morning during one of his pre-dawn raids on our collective sanity. Diaper Face also found time to disinvite Stephon Curry from coming to the White House.
This was all before his Cookie Crisp. (Donald Trump eats Cookie Crisp.)
White House Chief of Staff John F. Kelly has a new evening routine: He periodically strolls the perimeter of the White House grounds late at night, inspecting the compound and chatting with Secret Service agents to see if they have what they need. – Washington Post, 9/22/17
You wind up pitying them. I do, at least. They’re enabling a monster, and then they go and do something vaguely human and you cant help but empathize. I bet Kelly starts looking forward to that walk by lunch. Planning stuff to talk about with the Secret Service agents. Maybe buying them stuff. I bet the Secret Service treats him like the overnight desk clerk treats the guest who can’t sleep and wandered down into the lobby to chat.
End of interlude
The leaky boat full of ebola-covered hyenas that is now our executive has double-downed several times since his initial statement; were he playing blackjack, the rules would have forced him to stop doubling-down three or four double-downs ago, but we all know casino rules aren’t really Donny’s thing. By about noon, he had talked himself into attacking the NFL, forcing some of the owners–whom I assure you are all more terrible human beings than you can imagine–to denounce his statements. Essentially, the president dared the NFL to tell him to go fuck himself.
Other sporting concerns stepped into the fray, too. How did they respond?
The NBA is not in season, but most players and some coaches have already expressed displeasure at the president’s remarks; Skip Bayless has already called the players lazy thugs.
No one cares.
One guy knelt, and another guy spit tobacco juice, and everyone showed some good hustle.
To show their outrage at Trump’s statements, rugby players drank heavily while wearing attractive shirts.
Nascar thought Trump didn’t go far enough, and would like the entire NFL arrested except for most of the quarterbacks, a few tight ends, and all of the kickers.
No official response.
Not an actual sport.
Men are with the shitstreak. Ladies’ tour? Not as much.