A short transcript of a conversation follows, wherein elusive billionaire Bruce Wayne takes an attractive, young lady to his bedroom.

Girl: Mister Wayne. How about we get these constricting clothes off.

Bruce: I was just about to suggest the same thing, young lady.

Girl: Oh, Mister Wayne, what a fine… wa – wait…

Bruce: What?

Girl: All those… scars. What the fuck?

Bruce: Oh, it’s just…

Girl: What the fuck!?

Bruce: I play polo, that’s all. It’s ra-

Girl: Jesus, fucking Jesus!

Bruce: -rather a dangerous sport. That’s all, don’t worry. Now, where were we…

Girl: Woah, woah. Polo? I’m not an idiot. I’m not a – a – a fucking idiot! Oh, god… you…

Bruce: I… what?

Girl: Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re the fucking Batman, aren’t you.

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Me: Okay, time to check Facebook.

Facebook App: Oh, hey. You, uh, want me to open?

Me: Yeah, thanks.

Facebook App: Ooh, might take a while.

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So I was at work yesterday when a young kid came in with his father. He was probably about eight years old, I guess (I’m pretty terrible at estimating kids’ ages), and was dressed from head to toe in a full body Spider-Man suit. Anyway, father and son began wandering the store; the dad was […]

The white businessman goes in for a black handshake; the black businessman goes in for a normal handshake. The world holds its breath. Everyone stands in silence, waiting to see what’ll happen. … … THEY LAUGH AND FIST BUMP. RACISM IS OVER. EVERYONE CHEERS AND RUNS INTO THE STREETS. NELSON MANDELA SILENTLY WIPES A TEAR […]

She’s the kind of person who’ll put on a Facebook video about some people telling the ‘heartfelt’ story of how they rehabilitated a crippled dog, but she doesn’t have the heart not to laugh the whole way through. Here’s a recap of the last two minutes. ‘If that came near me, I’d tread on it.’ […]

If brief radio flickers and supermarket PA systems have taught me anything about modern music, it’s that kids like to party; the shards of Kesha and One Direction that aggressively force their way into my unwilling ear drums from time to time have certainly shown me that much. However, they never really say ‘drinking’ or ‘dancing’ or ‘hanging out with strangers in awkwardly forced social interactions’, they simply say ‘partying’. Now, I’m not entirely sure when the noun ‘party’, as in an assembly of people meeting with a common goal, be it political, social or celebratory, transformed into this awkwardly misapplied verb that I, for one, feel totally ill-equipped to define. Continue reading