As a general rule, do not use the serial/Oxford comma: so write ‘a, b and c’ not ‘a, b, and c’. But when a comma would assist in the meaning of the sentence or helps to resolve ambiguity, it can be used — especially where one of the items in the list is already joined by ‘and’.
YES. I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS.
RIP Oxford Comma
BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING SUPERFLUOUS
NO, FUCK YOU! THE OXFORD COMMA WAS HERE, IS HERE, AND WILL REMAIN HERE
COMMA FIGHT. I think it’s perfectly acceptable to drop the serial comma as long as you’re OK with being Hitler, since that’s what you would be. Hitler. King of the Nazis. aka You.
Today at 23rd Street & 9th Ave, heavy traffic required a cop to direct it. He was an older wiry guy with silver sunglasses and a fine bristle of gray moustache. He waved columns of cars hither and yon with his white-gloved hands, expressionless, and happened to be just ahead of my stopped cab as the last few cars trickled through the intersection before the light turned red. The cop did an about-face just as a delivery truck rumbled past his back, and thus now right past his nose. He didn’t recoil, just stood there placidly letting the truck go by. But before it did, he daintily extended one white-gloved finger, letting his fingertip trail across the side panel of the truck. When the truck was fully past, he looked at his fingertip closely, as if inspecting it for dust. Then he rubbed his fingers together to dispel the (imaginary?) grime, shaking his head in tiny disapproving nods, like he was tut-tutting about the shabby hygiene of delivery trucks in this day and age. Then he went on his way. Though it seemed such a tiny moment, and only for his own private amusement, the cop was performing this bit of stage business in front of a line of halted cars which had nothing else to do but idly observe him, and I think he was very aware of it. I bet he does that routine a dozen times per shift.
Since several people have asked me, apparently Tucker Max really is into the caveman diet as well as the martial arts fighting. Despite his appearance schedule he’s not listed as an official speaker at the Ancestral Health Symposium probably because he’s globally known as a huge yomping shitbird, but he really likes eating the radishes and the fish oil and such. Lots to love in that interview btw, such as “Paleo is so new.”
Come on, just one bike ride. It's fun in Nyack. You won't be sorry.
While you are riding your bike in Nyack this weekend I will be test-driving a Volvo tank on the West Side Highway, and if I see a single vehicle with less than four wheels I will ram it immediately. That’s the Swedish way.
Bend the two middle fingers back until you press on the lever while extending your other two fingers and thumb akimbo. Or, depending on physiology, raise your thorax and fire directly from the spinnerettes.
All the meats and cheeses you can stand, plus one vegetable of choice for roughage. If you do this right it won’t even matter what particular vegetable because it will only manifest as a texture. Garlic is good if you swing that way.
YOU READ ME LIKE A BOOK! I had Litterbox Cat hovering here, then there, but I just couldn’t decide on one placement that better than any other, as all were lovely on the Skarsgardian monolith. So yes, LC has now moved thoroughly into the purely conceptual realm, always already emerging from all images in all times.
Selected Questions from AJ Daulerio's "Rock and a Hard Place" Interviews for The Black Table, Alphabetized
Are black people even allowed to live in the suburbs yet?
Did you just namedrop Slavoj Zizek?
Did you really hit on his girlfriend?
Do you anticipate any kind of Gawker backlash anytime soon?
Do you find yourself that interesting anymore?
Do you think blogging is gay?
Do you think it’s okay to slap a bitch if she embarrasses you in public?
Do you think Lorraine Bracco’s vagina hole smells more like anchovies or smelts?
Do you think Page Six editor Richard Johnson shaves his balls?
Do you think Yasmine Bleeth could even fire a snot rocket anymore?
Do you think you only got the job because your last name is “Scocca”?
Do you think you would’ve gotten that six-figure book deal had all this shit not gone down?
Do you think you’ll cry when Dave Barry dies?
Does Katie Couric have any noticeable signs of undergoing Endotine brow-lift surgery as reported in Women’s Wear Daily?
Ever communicate with NAMBLA?
Have you ever called a writer a “douche head” or “dead lady vagina breath”?
Have you ever had a three way with Liz Smith and Cindy Adams?
Have you ever had penis envy for New York?
How big do you think Bijou Phillip’s vagina is?
How do you feel about Grape Nuts?
How do you feel about Samoans?
How do you get published?
Is it tough when famous people think you’re an asshole?
Is it true that you can get a pretty intense high by sticking cocaine up your ass?
Is journalism a good way to pick up chicks?
Is malfeasance a fancy word for butt sex?
Isn’t it true you were once a woman?
Out of all the interviews you’ve done in the past couple weeks, who was the most visibly put-off by you?
Was being addicted to heroin everything you hoped it’d be?
Was it tough to convince people you weren’t corrupting children?
What is the most brilliant magazine ever created?
What was the first lie you ever remember telling?
What would’ve been your ideal suicide?
What’s a blog?
What’s the longest you’ve ever stared at your own crap?
What’s with your dopey fucking hat?
What’s your favorite thing about being on CNN?
When you get a story linked on Romenesko, do you sport an enormous erection?
When you were sticking stuff up your nose and gettin’ all crazy what was the best night you had on cocaine—and don’t get all mushy about how it was hellish and horrible.
Which East Village dive has the best glory hole?
Who are the top five people in media that you’d like to see naked?
Who’s your favorite Jew?
Why do weathermen score all the chicks?
Would you rather be a big fucking rat or have sex with a dead pigeon?
Would you rather be a fluffer for Rip Taylor for a week or give Charles Nelson Reilly a coffee enema?
Would you rather be a slave or a big fucking liar with no credibility, friends, or people who trust you?
Would you rather be on the receiving end of a private bukkake session featuring Michael Wolff, Steve Dunleavy and Eric Alterman or let Michael Musto give you head in the middle of Madison Square Garden during a Knicks game?
Would you rather burn down a house full of children with cancer or be a big fucking liar with no credibility, friends, or people who trust you?
Would you rather choke on Tara Reid’s pancake nipple or go nose-bombing in Joe Franklin’s taint?
Would you rather do a shot of Nikki Finke’s pussy juice or get a tattoo of a giant pig on your back?
Would you rather drink a milkshake made of dirty diapers and hard shell crabs or have messy bathroom sex with Amy Sohn?
Would you rather eat a cheese steak off of Paris Hilton’s naked body or let Britney Spears throw scrapple at your bare bottom in front of the Liberty Bell?
Would you rather eat a salad out of Tina Brown’s vagina or have sex with Art Cooper’s corpse?
Would you rather fuck a dead baby or smash your own testicle with a hammer until it burst?
Would you rather get kicked in the nuts twelve times by Mila Kunis wearing roller skates or let Vivica A. Fox rip out your ass hair with her teeth?
Would you rather give Flyers head coach Ken Hitchcock a massage or share a steam bath with Philadelphia Eagles head coach Andy Reid?
Would you rather give Terri Schiavo — while she was, ahem, “alive” — a purple nurple in front of her weeping parents or have anal sex with an otter in the privacy of your own home?
Would you rather give Toph Eggers a hand job with lotion or let Rick Moody teabag you?
Would you rather have Jayson Blair shit in your mouth for five days straight or get fisted by your dad?
Would you rather have rodeo sex with Jayson Blair or beat up Arthur Sulzberger’s mother?
Would you rather have three-way sex with Robert Christgau and Chuck Klosterman or kill three kittens?
Would you rather join NAMBLA or participate in a campfire orgy with three dudes wearing Structure turtlenecks?
Would you rather let a poodle shit in your mouth for five days straight or get kicked in the balls twenty times?
Would you rather let Andy Pemberton give you head under your desk or throw a puppy down a flight of stairs?
Would you rather let Dave Eggers have sex with your girlfriend (and she’ll enjoy it tremendously) or rape a small Asian child?
Would you rather let George Wendt pee in your mouth or have Shelly Long wear a strap-on and ram you in the hiney for 22 minutes?
Would you rather let Lloyd Grove man paste you in the middle of the San Genarro festival or have Liz Smith strap one on and go dog on you n the middle of Yankee Stadium during the World Series?
Would you rather let Mo Rocca stick his cock-a in your nose for 12 minutes or lather yourself in Crisco and jump into a kiddy pool full of dead people’s pubic hair?
Would you rather let O.J. Simpson marry your daughter or let Kobe Bryant sexually assault you with one his Nikes?
Would you rather perform an abortion on a cat with a wooden spoon or stab a Yorkshire Terrier in the eye repeatedly for 47 seconds with a Bic pen?
Would you rather play captain fisty with Sridhar Pappu or do a Jager shot out of Gandhi’s sandals?
Would you rather play Cindy Adams knockers like the bongos or swing on Ed Begley, Jr.’s dong like a vine?
Would you rather ski nude with a bunch of ladies or shoot pool nude with a bunch of French dudes?
Would you rather stick a live, active beehive on your dong-ee or knock all your teeth out with a hammer?
Would you rather stick a raw oyster up your ass for 12 days — and every time you’d crap, you’d have to pull it out of the toilet and shove it back inside — or beat the shit out of a person with Cerebral Palsy?
Would you rather watch Neal Pollack eat out your mother or go all jail-homo for a weekend with the following people: George Steinbrenner, Choire Sicha, Yankees pitcher Kevin Brown and John Strausbaugh.
Would you rather wrap your balls in prosciutto and let a pig eat them or kill a random homeless person?
Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier just to unzip in front of each other and get it over with?
(Sr. 99 already heard this but I’m opening up the floor.) So after entertaining my scotch-obsessed father-in-law with last week’s Pappy Van Winkle bourbon stories, and how I couldn’t find any either in Manhattan, we walked around the corner to an unassuming corner booze shop, and there were six bottles. Three of the oldest, three of the semi-oldest I think, though I was in a little hurry and didn’t check properly. Anyway they were $299 and $449 per bottle respectively, which seems a bit insane to me though I’m no expert. All six bottles were gathering dust (perhaps from their exploded scarcity myth) and the clerk instantly offered to come down on the price. I’m tempted to haggle just so I can use them as giveaways or something. I’ll have to try it myself at a bar before I buy for myself. But those prices! Is that for real, man? Would anyone who’s in the PVW cult pay that much, really?