The “sanctity of marriage” permits drunk people to legally marry in a Vegas chapel after spending half an evening doing shots at a bar and the other half in a seedy motel. Two men or two women who will truly love each other until death? Not so much.

If I buy merchandise from a brewer, it is because they have accomplished something rare and laudable, by inspiring within me an enlightenment that I wish to pollenate.

I’ve mostly kept abreast of the persistent 80′s reimaginations, the worst of which are coming from, interestingly enough, Madonna.

In proportion to its deliciousness I presume it was also intoxicatingly unhealthy.

To my complicated tastebuds, any fish heavier than mahi-mahi tastes like a sailor’s armpit.

If you can’t figure out how properly focus a photo, or you’re too drunk to bother, then the Lytro camera would really appeal to you.

The photos are reminiscent of some twisted version of “Where’s Waldo” for people with tritanopia.

Señor Gazpacho is a name that lends itself to things like illegal aliens, mystical African seances and random off-key horn arpeggios; none of that, of course, has anything to do with dubstep.

If there were ever a true antithesis to the Occupy movement, it is I.

I was slightly disappointed that no one bothered to hang a “Bud Light” sign next to the port-a-johns.