This isn't our fucking dumpster fire, it's theirs. They are the ones who are going to have to put it out.

While they all stand around with their thumbs up their asses, trying to figure out how to handle the conflagration, pass the popcorn.

And not counting the cherry turnover!1

and just a little bit of butter at the end, tossing it to coat. Then very little sea salt.

Bags of popcorn are way too salty for me. I've been low salt since I was ten.

I always miss stuff.

Back in the '30s/40s/whatever, every morning somebody would buy a newspaper at the corner newsstand, glance at the headline, crumble up the paper with a curse, and throw it in the trash. Finally, the seller asked him what this was about. The dude said, "I'm looking for an obituary." The seller said, "But the Obituaries are in a section inside the paper." The dude said, "When the one I'm looking for happens, it'll be on the front page above the fold!1"

O.K., am not talking obits here, but some other milestone...