Today’s Fortune: Your true love will find their truer love.
Twitter sold, in defiance of the seller, purchaser, and user base.
Republicans condemned Paul Pelosi’s attacker for jumping ahead of schedule.
The Fed DDT’d global trade onto thumbtacks.
Putin listed extinction’s pros and cons on a napkin.
Netanyahu beat peace in the polls.
Bartenders prepared for the Election Day rush.
(I made this artfully dumb image, among others, for this collab.)
Fun story: for years, a girl I’ve never met used my number to turn down dates. I always assumed fake numbers were made up on the spot, but I guess having something memorized helps the performance.
Sarah was popular, mostly on weekends. Her suitors texted with a unique mixture of hope and desperation, with the former giving way to the latter by Sunday. A lot of them were DJs.
Whoever Sarah is, she gave me something valuable. I’ve gotten dick pics at work. I’ve been called most versions of cunt. I’ve had a stranger describe our connection. All from the same person. Even I’m not empathy-challenged enough to avoid the lesson there.
The texts stopped in 2020. I hope that she’s alive, and curving DJs today.
When I become Baron, I’m punting Election Day as far away from family holidays as possible. The current sequence feels like a prank from the Founders we spend secondary school worshiping. Much like the constitution itself.
Ten years ago, I had a hunch that American sanity wasn’t on a winning trajectory. But I never thought we’d lose “Niggas in Paris.” I’ve belted that song more than “Happy Birthday.” And now half of it feels like Mein Kampf with a backbeat.
If his next album is Mein Kampf with a Backbeat, I’m suing for royalties. The Dayle Think Tank isn’t free.
A bit of rough news: Weeaboo Hell is in the podcast graveyard. Not one of the fun Hollywood graveyards, where the dead rise every Halloween. A mundane, dirt and concrete goth hangout.
Long story short, my cohost didn’t like the workload. It’s a two-man show, so that’s that. It’s a little frustrating on my end, since I did the backroom work. You can imagine the True Hollywood Story that followed.
The aforementioned crossover special offered a simple choice: Vote or Die.
I documented my struggle with the “unprecedented.”
Everything Abridged is still the book you’ve been waiting for.
My 1-900-HOTDOG reached either new heights or unfathomable lows.
Ratio warfare cannot be stopped, but it can be mastered.
I still enjoy my reflection on drone warfare.
Something fun in video in the near future.
My next love letter to the mayor comes out Wednesday.
The book’s taking shape.
One Sentence Reviews
The Onion – Our Dumb Century: The peak of a comedy dynasty. (4.5/5)
Gabriel Iglesias – Stadium Fluffy: Jokes are the only recycling that works. (1.5/5)
Sheng Wang – Diamonds are Forever, But So Is a Plastic Bag: Exists. (2/5)
Vampire Survivors: The best legal ROI on five dollars. (3.5/5)
Have you voted yet?
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