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I eat crow all the time. When I fuck up, I 'fess up. Like a man.

Listen, I'm a fucking ign'ant Yank, and even I know the PM's residence is at 24 Sussex, not on the Hill. The Hill's nice. They have cool crows and those MASSIVE black squirrels. Good eatin'.

The government-provided housing sucks ass.

Turn him loose. He won't last long.

I find 'em GREAT complements! Leads to morons being dead or in jail. Both good places for 'em. But in the annals of rock n roll, Frank Zappa gave us "Titties and Beer" and Mary Prankster gave us "Tits and Whiskey." Both perfectly sensible combinations. But tits and bacon?

Exactly how do bacon and tits go together? No, I withdraw the question. I'd rather not know.

Funny. . . new research puts the age of human migration to the Americas at 26.7 (or thereabouts) -- not 13.7 (roughly) thousand years! Whoa, dude! What does it all mean?

The ultimate challenge to science-fiction writers is to write something interesting about interstellar space. That's why 99.99+% of "space" science fiction features faster-than-light travel of one type or another. Nobody cares how big something is, only how long it takes to get from...

Why not Minot? Freezin's the reason

Give it some float, we'll see how she runs. Most other places in the world the gods weren't so grouchy or anal.

Why is the Big Blue Meanie always revealing His Holy Self to flea-bitten sheepshaggers in the Middle East?

"Terrific!"

There speaks a man who does truly love coffee! Blasphemer! Only need enough for the crosscut saw and the sled. Dogs sleep in the cabin. Y'know, you really suck at fulfilling the stereotype. Bet you don't even have a big blue ox.

Hare Krishna

Blood for Odin!

W Whataboutery. It's a little bit of red herring and a little bit of false equivalence. With a smooth ad hominem topping, it's a symphony in fallacy!

Waaah waaah waaah. Ain't but a couple of hundred miles and a mountain range or two to prime hardwood. Yeah, that's the problem Real Canadians don't have garages. They have sheds.

But the North and the South get all the press. Why does nobody go on an epic voyage to the East Pole? Which mythical immortal gift-giving being lives at the West Pole?

Ruining my perception of the Men of Westernesse here. I kinda thought you'd just step out the back, clearcut a couple of hundred acres, and brew up in an iron coffeepot over a wood fire. What would Fraser think?

Cold coffee is all the rage these days. I take it you don't have a can of sterno and a coffeepot? Or did you just want to whimper about EVs?