In the future, Katie wears red rhinestone glasses, has large hair, and is a racist from the deep south. At least, according to this last weekend’s drama at Cornerstone. They finally typecast Katie, and it wasn’t pretty.

The song, much like the gift, goes on and on . . . and on. Can you find mid-80’s Katie and her sister Emily?

Hint: glasses.

There are few things as funny as this:

One of my favorite Demetri Martin jokes is as follows:

“I think the worst time to have a heart attack would be during a game of charades. An even worse time would be during a game of ‘Fake Heart Attack’, followed by ‘Naps’.”

Saturday, I decided to be ambitious. I was going to finally build the front step I had planned nearly 2 years ago. I was going to trim bushes, mow the lawn, and make time to hang out with Kathryn. It was going to be a wildly successful day.

After a morning of hangups and false-starts, I was ready to refuel with lunch and a couple ibuprofen and hit the afternoon hard. About a half hour after eating I began to feel light headed and quite drowsy. I didn’t work that hard in the morning. Could the massive italian sandwich from Jimmy John’s be the culprit? I passed out on the couch for twenty minutes, awoke groggier than before, and was convinced to move to the bed for a slight nap.

45 minutes later, still groggy.

Another hour later, still groggy.

For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I am never this tired in the middle of the day, and I wasn’t feeling sick. I mean, I did some light work, took 3 ibuprofen, ate lunch . . . wait. I remembered the ibuprofen I grabbed were colored blue. They’re not usually blue, they’re usually white or brown. Blue means . . . sleep aid. Turns out I downed 3 ibuprofen pm. And you know what, they really work. Within a half hour I would’ve passed out standing up.

Seriously, do not operate heavy machinery and be sure to devote enough time for a full night’s sleep. That junk messes you up.

This is what happens when you are running full speed trying to score a goal left-footed, only to misstep and roll your ankle, then applying your entire body weight to said rolled ankle. The good news is the doctor said there were no breaks, but now I have a baseball for an ankle. For the short-term I’ll be crutching around, but I think my soccer season is over.

I never did score that goal.

What did the middle-eastern man exclaim after discovering how the local library organized their books?

“Ah zey’re by genre!”

(read: Azerbaijan-re)

You know you love it.