(CNN)It’s understandable that you’d want to pamper your pooch. But if you’re doing so with bone treats, you’re actually risking its life.
Bone treats are real bones that have been dried, flavored and packaged for dogs, the FDA says. They’re a fixture in pet stores.
Although the treats might seem like they make good stocking stuffers, they pose serious health risks.
In the FDA’s reports, pet owners and veterinarians said dogs that ate these bones experienced blockages in the digestive tract, choking, cuts, vomiting, diarrhea and in extreme cases, death. About 15 dogs died.
“Giving your dog a bone treat might lead to an unexpected trip to your veterinarian, a possible emergency surgery, or even death for your pet,” veterinarian Carmela Stamper said in the published warning.
Besides the warning, the FDA also provided extra tips for keeping Fido safe:
Chicken bones and other bones from the kitchen table can also cause injury when chewed by pets. So be careful to keep platters out of reach when you’re cooking or the family’s eating.
Be careful what you put in the trash can. Dogs are notorious for helping themselves to the turkey carcass or steak bones disposed of there.
Talk with your veterinarian about other toys or treats that are most appropriate for your dog. There are many available products made with different materials for dogs to chew on.
Among America’s unforgiving recycling elite, no bag is more universally revered than the almighty canvas tote bag.
Once a demonized member of the bag community, the canvas tote has risen to prominence in recent years as a socially conscious sustainable alternative to plastic. Wherever you go, you’re bound to be circled by aggressive tote bag pushers, who offer the tote as a “complimentary gift” in exchange for your charitable contribution or participation in some boring-ass event.
Alone, tote bags are benign. Together, they’re a malevolent force of nature. Overstocked American kitchen cabinets are struggling to breathe, suffocating under the weight of their tote bag mountain.
It’s easy to understand why we fell so hopelessly in love. There’s nothing more romantic than the American tote bag — washable, reusable, foldable, and very often font-conscious. And while stereotyping is bad, stereotyping about people who use tote bags has proven to be historically accurate, according to a recent study I conducted in my brain at Barnes & Noble.
For years, we’ve all lived under the same exhausted bag paradigm. The tote bag is considered to be far sexier than its inherently wasteful, bad boy plastic alternative. The story is in the data. Americans use 100 billion plastic bags a year, which requires 12 million barrels of oil to produce. Only 1 percent of plastic bags are returned for recycling (to be honest, I didn’t even know that was possible). Plastic bags are destroying our rivers, our oceans and this fugly tree outside my living room window.
But who’s to say tote bags are that much better? Study after study has come to the same grating conclusion. Tote bags are being over, not under, produced in America. Many of us have more tote bags than we could ever dream of, and we’re not using them particularly efficiently. Take a look at your own collection. How long have you used the same tote bags for? Are you really using them all? How much is pure tote bag waste?
Whatever you think about plastic bags, they’re actually leaving less of a carbon footprint than totes, at least when it comes to manufacturing. The production of canvas totes generates 131 times as many emissions of plastic bags. In order to be just as effective as plastic bags, that means you’d have to use your tote bag at least 131 times.
That’s obscene. I don’t think I’ve even left my house 131 times this year.
Anyways, enough book learnin’. What makes tote bags so devastatingly cruel to our home environments is how much space they take up in our vulnerable storage spaces. Tell me you don’t have a tote bag full of other totes. Maybe you have a closet full of nothing but totes, or maybe just a cabinet stuffed to the gills.
Don’t get me wrong — I love a good classic NPR or New Yorker tote, something that screams “I’m educated and pleasant.”
I don’t know the exact date the nonprofit machine started giving out complimentary totes for charitable donations, but it wasn’t always this way. Back in the carefree pre-recycling era, we used to get free mugs, free calendars, free T-shirts.
The good ol’ days are gone, baby, and I’ll do anything to get them back.
For nonprofits and corporations seeking to diversify their complimentary goodies, might I recommend eschewing totes and considering these undervalued potentially branded items:
Nice dried meats
Cheese puff barrels
We don’t heave to live in fear of our tote bag landfills anymore. It’s time to cut off the supply. Once we’ve liberated ourselves from tote bag welfare state, we can learn how to tote like the responsible good citizens we believe ourselves to be.
Heaven. The jewel of outer space. The gold-paved paradise where your dead grandma has yet to make friends. Former home of Babe Ruth. The big zoo where they keep God.
You died yesterday in a guillotine accident, and because you correctly chose to be a Christian during your life, you are now being rewarded with eternal glory in the Kingdom of God.
Good shit, good shit.
“Welcome to Herman!” a small angel screams at you.
“Yes, that is what I said. My name is Donner, and I will be your Hermanly Host for the next 500 billion years, assisting you with whatever you need while you’re acclimating to life inside the pearly gates.”
“Because after that I will enter my chrysalis stage and transform into a pelican.”
“Herman can be a wonderful place, but it can also be a not-so-wonderful place,” Donner screams as your childhood dog hurtles through the sky behind him, giving you a brief preview of the glories that await. “It all depends whether you get on God’s good side or his bad side.”
“Well, for one, he’ll let you use his Sonicare toothbrush, which is way better than a normal toothbrush. And sometimes he’ll take you for a ride in his private golf cart and let you sit on his lap and pretend to drive. Oh, and sometimes he’ll let you watch the personalized episodes of King Of The Hill that he made for himself after realizing that he couldn’t relate to the original series—I hear they’re really good, too.”
“Yes, it is. But what’s really amazing is if you become God’s favorite. If God chooses you as his favorite, you get to live in his house with him and basically be a god yourself. He lets you partake in his holy vegetables and sleep next to him in a matching sleeping bag. He lets you hold the walkie-talkie that receives all of mankind’s prayers. But the coolest part is that he lets you into his private trophy room to look at all his trophies—truly, there is no greater privilege.”
“Well, there are a number of things God could do to make your life unpleasant, but if you really get on his bad side, he’ll sentence you to live in Judas’ Bog. That’s the fucked-up swamp of sadness God invented for Judas because he didn’t think Hell was a severe enough punishment. It is said that everyone there is constantly flying around jetpack-like with the most brutal diarrhea imaginable, and there’s no toilet paper, so you have to use a communal Nerf football. And every time you open your mouth there, a sickly old bat flies into your mouth and makes love with your tongue, and then it lays a clutch of sour eggs on your tongue, and if you try to spit them out, a tiny Tom Hanks in a police uniform runs up and shatters your knees with a billy club. The tiny Tom Hanks is an asshole, and he’s always hitting you for arbitrary reasons. Every day in Judas’ Bog is a stupid fiesta of nightmares, and I hope you never have to go there.”
“Hey, speaking of God, here’s your ride now to go meet him,” says Donner as a tramcar piloted by a gorilla pulls up. “Good luck, and let me know if you need anything. You can find me in the bathroom toilet of your condo, which is where I live.”
“I don’t know what the hell this is, but thank you,” says Donner, eating the $5 bill.
You get on the tram and start flying through Heaven to meet God. You see all sorts of neat stuff through the window, such as a gold-plated CVS and two angels electrocuting a giant squid with their powers.
You ask the gorilla how he likes it in Heaven, but he just sits there like an idiot and doesn’t say anything. Annoyed, you find an empty beer can on the floor and throw it at the gorilla’s head to try to get his attention.
Then, without saying a word, the gorilla extends his hand back toward you in a manner that suggests he wants you to hold his hand.
The moment you take the gorilla’s hand, you feel a powerful surge of energy explode through your body, and suddenly millions of images and sounds are rapidly flashing through your mind.
You see drunk, muscular angels blasting you with a firehose and mocking you for not being as sleek and hairless as them. You see a lionlike beast covered head to toe in gorgeous lips singing a ballad about how he flew to Earth the morning of 9/11 and put all of your bananas in the North Tower and how you cried when you saw the footage of them exploding on MSNBC. You see big-shot Heaven celebrities James Gandolfini and Steve Irwin walking down a golden street holding hands, and as they pass you, you hear Steve yell, “Blimey! It’s Rodney Dipshit!” and they both bust out laughing. Then you hear what is unmistakably the voice of God saying, “Rodney, you useless moron ape! Pack your bags, I am sending you to live in Judas’ Bog for the rest of eternity!”
The gorilla pilot pulls his hand away, and the images stop flashing through your mind. You realize that he has just shown you his memories of Heaven, and you understand that his experience has not been a good one.
Damn, if that’s what it’s like to be on God’s bad side, then you need to do whatever it takes to make sure he likes you.
The tram pulls up in front of God’s house and leaves you at the doorstep.
“Welcome, my child,” says a voice that is somehow both loud and quiet, deep and shrill, American-sounding and Chinese-sounding. “Come in so that I might gaze upon you with my powerful, high-quality eyes and sniff you with my wise, deathless snout.”
The front door opens, beckoning you inside.
“Oh, hey there, buddy. How’s it goin’? My name’s God. What’s your name?”
Holy shit. It’s God.
“Yeah, I already knew that. Funny story, but I actually created you out of some clay and toothpicks and shit, so I pretty much know everything there is to know about you. Weird, right?”
You’re at a loss for words. You’re excited to be talking to God, but also extremely nervous and a bit paranoid, because if he knows everything about you, then that probably means he knows about—
“—the time you got drunk and ran over the mailman with your car? And you didn’t know what to do with the body so you just put some stamps on it and stuffed it into one of those big metal street-corner mailboxes, and nobody discovered the body for months because the guy who normally emptied that mailbox was the guy you killed, and when someone finally did discover him, his corpse was a perfect cube shape because the body had bloated into the mold of the mailbox’s rigid 90-degree corners, and the poor guy had to be buried in a hollowed-out refrigerator since there were no coffins that could accommodate his angular dimensions? Yep, I know about that.”
Whoa, did God just read your mind?
“Yes. I did. And for what it’s worth, that mailman was constantly taking my name in vain, so it doesn’t bug me that you killed him.”
“Sooooo, anyway… did you bring me any offerings?”
Shit. You forgot to bring God an offering. You should’ve stopped at that CVS on the way over.
“Oh, okay, cool. Seems like it would’ve made more sense to just bring it in when you got here, but what do I know—it’s not like I’m omniscient or anything. But, yeah, if you wanna run out and grab my offering real quick, that’d be great.”
You run outside and frantically start looking for an offering to give to God. Luckily, as you’re searching, you notice three things hurtling through the sky that might be able to pass as offerings: a vending machine, a TurboTax Premier software bundle, and the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
You grab Michael Jackson and bring him to God as an offering.
“Whoa, holy shit!” says God. “You got me my own Michael Jackson? Badass, bro! I’ve always wanted one of these.”
“Hee-heeeee!” Michael Jackson sings as he moonwalks around God’s living room. “Shamone!”
“Oh, cool, he’s doing all the things!” God exclaims. “Damn, this offering rules. You have pleased me greatly. Keep this up, and I can see you becoming my favorite in no time.”
You quickly run outside and grab Michael Jackson, hoping that God will like the King of Pop more than he liked your first offering.
“Whoa, holy shit!” says God. “You got me my own Michael Jackson? Badass, bro! I’ve always wanted one of these.”
“Hee-heeeee!” Michael Jackson sings as he moonwalks around God’s living room. “Shamone!”
“Oh, cool, he’s doing all the things!” God exclaims. “Damn, this offering rules—way better than that bullshit you brought me before. Dang. You have pleased me greatly. Keep this up and I can see you becoming my favorite in no time.”
“Now, before I send you on your way, are there any questions you’d like to ask me? You can ask whatever you’d like—no topics are off limits.”
God sighs deeply and rubs his eyes with exasperation.
“Yes. Yes, there is.”
Good to know!
“Anyway, I think that’s enough questions for now. But thanks again for giving me Michael Jackson—you definitely earned some brownie points with that one. Lemme know if you need anything, and don’t be a stranger. Adios, amigo!”
“Ah, I see what you did there. Fun.”
“Bradley’s. Are there any other questions you’d like to ask me?”
“Okay, well, it was cool meeting you. Thanks again for giving me Michael Jackson—you definitely earned some brownie points with that one. Lemme know if you need anything, and don’t be a stranger. Adios, amigo!”
There is a long, awkward silence.
“Please ask me a different question.”
“I have eight birthdays. I am allowed to have as many birthdays as I want because I am God. Do you have any other questions?”
You grab the TurboTax software bundle and bring it to God as an offering.
“You gotta be shitting me,” says God, anger creeping into his voice. “Seriously? Tax software? What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Did you see anything in the Bible about me doing taxes? Come on. God doesn’t do taxes. That’s nerd shit.”
You’re getting the sense that God doesn’t like your offering.
“I’m not sure why you’re trying to clown me, bro. You knew this was a junkass offering, but you gave it to me anyway. And that’s shitty. Maybe I should banish you to Judas’ Bog to teach you a little something about respect. How’s that sound, eh?”
You grab the vending machine and bring it to God as an offering.
“Ummm, what the hell is this?” asks God, anger creeping into his voice. “Seriously, what the hell is this? A fucking vending machine? Come on. It’d be one thing if you just brought me a pile of snacks, but instead you’ve brought me a pile of snacks locked inside a giant box, and I have to pay my own money to access the snacks. So, essentially, the gift you’re giving me is the option to spend $1.50 on Certs.”
You’re getting the sense that God doesn’t like your offering.
“You realize that I’m the creator of all things, right? So, if I wanted snacks, I could just will them into existence, like this.”
God snaps his fingers and a nine-foot mound of Corn Nuts materializes.
“You shouldn’t have clowned me, bro. You knew that was a junkass offering, but you didn’t care. You didn’t respect me. So I’m thinking maybe I should banish you to Judas’ Bog to teach you a little something about respect. How’s that sound, eh?”
“Ah, c’mon, man. Don’t grovel. That shit’s pathetic. That shit bums me out. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
You get up off the floor and stop groveling.
“Well, anyway, thanks for stopping by and saying hello. I would say to stop by again some time, but honestly, you just kind of seem like a person who I’d never, ever want to hang out with or interact with in any capacity ever again. No offense or anything. But hopefully you’ll enjoy it here in Heaven. I’m gonna do you a solid and hook you up with some nice digs in this charming little place called Judas’ Bog—I think you’re gonna love it.”
Ah, fuck. You blew it.
“Adios, ding-dong! Enjoy the afterlife!”
As you’re walking out of God’s house, you hear a voice trying to get your attention.
“Psst,” the voice says. “Psssst. Pssssssst. Hey, new guy! Psst. Psssssssssst. Hey, look over here! Psssssst! PSSSST! Pssssst.Pssst. Psst. I am to your right. Psssst. Psssssssttttt!”
“Looks like you’ve figured out that right is left and left is right in Heaven—good for you!”
Oh, whoa, it’s Pope John II.
“Pardon my eavesdropping, but it sounds like things went really well in there. Seems like God really, really likes you.”
“Yes, I know many things about God, because I am his favorite. I live here in his house with him and partake in his holy vegetables, and I intend to continue partaking in his holy vegetables forever and ever, because I won’t let anyone usurp me as his favorite. So don’t get any funny ideas. Capiche?”
“It means, ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?’ Specifically about me being God’s favorite? And how I’d like to continue being God’s favorite? And how nobody better fuck with this good thing I’ve got going?”
“Listen, you little rat. If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t fuck with me. I am a pope and a goddamn bona fide saint, and no one deserves to sleep next to God in a matching sleeping bag except me. Got it? So stay in your lane, fucker, or I will wreck you.”
“What’s going on out there?” shouts God from the other room. “Pope, I hope you’re not being an asshole to our new friend—that wouldn’t be very me-like.”
The pope shoots you an angry glare, which catches you off guard because you thought you were just making friendly small talk with the guy.
“You’ve made a powerful enemy today,” says the pope through gritted teeth. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
You step outside, and the tram is waiting there to take you to your condo. You take a seat in the back so you don’t have to be near the gorilla pilot, who is crying.
You arrive at your condo, and the place fuckin’ rules. There’s rich-people shit everywhere, and the couches are so soft that they feel like they’re upholstered with that stretchy skin from puppies’ bellies—a fact you later confirm by checking the tag on one of the cushions.
“Welcome to your new home!” you hear a voice call out from the bathroom.
It’s your heavenly host, Donner!
“I tell you what, you must’ve made a great first impression with God, because he set you up with one of the nicest condos in all of Herman!” exclaims Donner, giddily splashing around in the toilet water. “And he even left you a personalized gift basket in the kitchen! Wowee! I gotta say, I’m really excited to be living here with you, and I hope that we’ll become best fr—”
You close the toilet lid on Donner so you don’t have to talk to him anymore. You’re much more interested in checking out this gift basket that God left for you.
You go to the kitchen and find the gift basket from God. It has 30 eggs and some paperclips in it. Also, there’s a handwritten note tucked inside.
Wow, a personal invitation to hang out with God—seems like he really likes you! Maybe if you keep building a rapport with him, you can eventually become his favorite.
It occurs to you, though, that you don’t really know a whole lot about him, and you’re not sure what you can do to make him like you more.
You go to the toilet and ask Donner for some pointers on how to make God like you more.
“If you really want to win God over, there are three things you must do. One, you need to make him feel funny. Two, you need to show him that you can remain strong in the face of great temptation. And three, you need to show him that you’re willing to make an extraordinary sacrifice for him. History shows that if you can succeed at doing these three things, God will bestow his favor on you.”
Laugh at God’s jokes, resist temptation, and make a big sacrifice. Got it.
You put some money in the toilet to thank Donner for his help, but then you accidentally flush the toilet out of habit, and you can hear his head knocking pretty hard against the bowl as he swirls around.
You’ve got a few hours to kill before you’re supposed to go hang out with God. What do you want to do in the meantime?
You take the private escalator from your condo and venture out into Heaven. Contrary to what has been widely reported on the news, there don’t seem to be any streets of gold here. As far as you can tell, there are just a bunch of long moving walkways linking together a vast constellation of celestial landmasses, and you can either travel around on the walkways or take the gorilla-piloted tram system.
If you’re wondering what Heaven smells like, it smells like a hotel with an indoor pool.
Visitors to London West End ran and hid, two tube stations were closed and armed police raced to scene after incident
An altercation between two men appears to have triggered the outbreak of mass panic in London on one of the busiest shopping days of the year, leading to people fleeing in fear, armed police being deployed and a section of the West End being evacuated.
British Transport Police issued a CCTV appeal for information about two men believed to be involved in a fight in Oxford Circus tube station on Friday afternoon as part of their inquiries into the cause of the panic.
Nine people were injured as hundreds ran to escape what they believed to be an attack on Friday evening, only to find it was a false alarm. The reaction was a sign of just how jittery many have become at the end of a year in which the capital and Manchester have been targeted by five terrorist attacks.
Sophia Smith, a witness to the fight, told the Guardian an altercation on a Victoria line platform panicked travellers and caused people to start running.
Young boys with a few girls were attacking each other and everyone screamed and began to run, she said. I escaped through the exit along with hundreds of other people and some women were on the floor and shoes were falling off and shopping bags. It was absolutely terrifying.
The incident began just after 4.30pm and centred on the tube station, where a number of passengers began to flee believing that they had heard gunshots.
As they fled, so did other passengers inside the station. As the crowds spilled out on to Oxford Street, hundreds of Christmas shoppers also started to run.
Within minutes, Oxford Street and Bond Street underground stations were both closed and Scotland Yard was issuing alerts on Twitter, warning people in the area to get inside the nearest building and stay there.
If you are in a building stay in a building, if you are on the street in Oxford Street leave the area, the Met police said.
The panic appears to have been spread not only by the sight of fleeing crowds and word of mouth, but by incorrect reports on social media.
Inside nearby pubs and restaurants, people crowded into the cellars, while shop staff moved customers away from the doors and windows.
There was a mass stampede of people running and trying to get away as quickly as they could, said the BBC producer Helen Bushby, who was in the area. They were crying, they were screaming, they were dropping their shopping bags. It was a very panicked scene. A couple of people said they thought it was a gunshot or a fire.
Another witness said he saw an elderly woman and a man carrying a child knocked over in the rush. There were people running in all directions, he said.
At Westminster University, a few hundred metres from Oxford Circus, students and staff were locked in. I was in class and there was a helicopter, lots of ambulances and police cars, said Andrea Acedo, 21. Then I heard that someone was shooting people but we didnt know where, so they had to lock down the university so no one could come in.
Armed police were on the scene within minutes and a police helicopter hovered overhead. But after searching the area for almost an hour, police announced that no suspects had been found and there was no evidence of any shots having been fired.
The London ambulance service said several people sustained injuries in the rush to escape from the area. Eight people were taken to London hospitals for treatment for minor injuries, and one person was taken to a major trauma centre after sustaining leg injuries.
After the stations were reopened and police cordons lifted, the Met and the British Transport Police said their response had been stood down.
Given the nature of the information received, we responded as if the incident was terrorism, including the deployment of armed officers, the Met said.
The transport police said there had been a significant level of panic in the area.
Police released a CCTV image of the two men believed to be involved in the altercation and said officers would now like to speak to these two people in the CCTV images, who they believe may have information about the incident and the circumstances around the incident. They would also like to speak to anyone who was at the station or in the area at the time and saw or heard anything that would have caused mass evacuation.
Although some stores remained closed after the panic, most of the Oxford Circus area returned to normal.
At Pontis Italian Kitchen, a few metres from the tube station, customers sheltering in the basement erupted in applause when a waitress announced that there had been no terrorist incident.
People returned to their evening commute and the Evening Standard distributors returned to their newsstands.
Four terrorist attacks in London this year have left 18 dead and 137 injured. A further 22 people were killed by a suicide bomber in Manchester.
The UK terrorism threat level is set at severe, meaning an attack is assessed to be highly likely.
Anyone with any information should contact British Transport Police on 0800 40 50 40 or text 61016 citing reference 405 of 24/11.
Not gonna lie, it’s been one giant shit show of a week for me, and literally, the only thing keeping me going rn is the hope that Cheryl might get more than three minutes of screen time on tonight’s episode of . I’m realizing now that maybe I should dream bigger. CW, you’ve been warned. Anyway, shall we get started?
Well, fam, I did not think that 20 seconds into this recap I’d go into a full-on rage blackout, but here we are, because WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK AM I LOOKING AT RN? DID JUGHEAD AND TONI FUCKING SLEEP TOGETHER??? Did they?? Toni, you little serpent slut. Seriously wishing a fate worse than those hair extensions upon her.
Meanwhile Betty—poor, innocent, still-has-her-hymen Betty—goes to check on Chuck Bass Nick St. Clair and he’s… absolutely fine. Did she or did she not say, “Fry him,” to The Black Hood last episode? I’m v confused. What kind of mind games is The Hood playing here?? I was fully prepared to see some fuckboy carnage tonight, and you’re telling me that now the mass murderer isn’t pulling through? Men, you can’t trust them.
The Hood says Nick doesn’t count as an actual sacrifice because he’s not technically from Riverdale, and I’m really starting to think The Hood might actually be my ex-boyfriend, because he was also into technicalities. Like technically, it’s not cheating if we were on a break my back was turned for 2.5 seconds.
Mrs. Blossom sabotages Cheryl’s attempted rape complaint, and it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve seen on this show since two sets of parents didn’t tell their children that they were related to the person they were sleeping with. Mrs. B must still be salty about Cheryl setting their entire house on fire.
VERONICA: How are you doing?
CHERYL: I’m fine.
God, anytime Toni’s face comes on the screen it just reminds me that I’m not allowed to have nice things in this world. Like an unhealthy obsession with two fictional characters and their relationship Bughead. Toni says her romantic night with Jughead was actually more of a “PG-13 grope fest,” which sounds a little like the game of “just the tip,” but ya know, to each their own.
Betty is such a fucking narc. I can’t believe she got parents involved after that wild party. Aside from the Jingle Jangle, the only thing criminal happening there was Archie and his dance moves. I don’t blame Veronica for playing the “did you hear something, Archie? Because all I hear is a SKANK” card every time Betty spoke.
Okay WHAT is Jingle Jangle?? It’s still unclear. Is it ecstasy? Heroin? Why does it stay in your system for three to four days after consumption other than for convenient plot purposes for the writers? These are the questions I have.
Archie warns Jughead about Mayor McCoy raiding South Side High. He keeps telling Jughead he needs to GTFO before the cops come and it’s like, does Archie know this is not how raids work? Like, Jughead can’t just go to jail for having shitty taste in hats.
Betty gets another call from The Hood, and he wants her to track down a drug dealer called “The Sugar Man” who is known for taking kids to his candy shop and letting them lick the lollipop. I paraphrase.
THE HOOD: If you want me to stop calling, all you have to do is track down a drug lord that Riverdale PD hasn’t been able to catch for 20+ years.
BETTY: I’m literally a high school sophomore who runs the school newspaper. That’s it.
Okay, Cheryl looks like an actual queen in that one piece, despite the fact that there’s no way that getup can be seasonally appropriate. Betty spends all of two seconds pretending to give a shit about Cheryl’s almost sexual assault before she’s like, “Ever heard of The Sugar Man??” For God’s sake Betty, have some fucking tact.
Oh, OF COURSE The Sugar Man is a scary bedtime story Cheryl’s parents told her. These are the same people who have a weird redhead fetish and encouraged a twincest-esque relationship between their kids. It’s all starting to make sense now.
So I guess The Serpents are really are as dumb as those cut-off jean vests alluded to. Good to know. They decide to team up with their rival gang, The Ghoulies, even though they’re pushing Jingle Jangle to all the kids.
JUGHEAD: He’s a pusher! He pushes people!
Meanwhile, Cheryl discovers The Sugar Man in the creepiest child’s drawing I’ve ever seen. Though I’m not at all surprised this drawing is an artifact from her childhood. Her parents are right up there with the DiLaurentis’ as far as creep levels go.
Betty finally does something smart and tells Veronica about her booty call The Black Hood and his insane demands. Veronica gives advice that would be more appropriate if Betty was actually talking about her psycho ex. Typical. Veronica is like, “He only calls you late at night and he doesn’t respond to your texts for days? Girl I’ve been there,” and it’s like, Veronica, you do realize we’re talking about a mass murderer here right?
YASSSS. DADDY IS HOME. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen any signs of my favorite DILF FP Jones, and I could not be more pleased.
Is FP’s advice to solve a GANG WAR AND POTENTIAL DRUG EPIDEMIC really to challenge The Ghoulies to an illegal street race? Really?? I know this worked when the T-Birds faced off against The Scorpions, but I have a feeling that was more of an anomaly than an actual rule of thumb when it comes to finding solutions for these type of situations. All I know is that if The Pussycats don’t do a rendition of “Greased Lightning,” then this is a missed opportunity on The CW’s part, tbh.
Lol at Jughead trying to intimidate this man in a bathrobe with Archie as his backup. Also, Archie, you haven’t played football since the pilot; I think you can retire your letterman jacket at least at the gang meetings.
And of course, the drug dealers find Betty and Veronica sneaking around the premises. Did these thugs just refer to Betty and Veronica as Jughead and Archie’s “bitches?” I’m starting to think the writers of are getting their dialogue from early 00’s hip-hop.
Elsewhere, Cheryl spots Nick and his paisley tie at Pop’s, and I sincerely hope she treats him with the same respect she treated all of her earthly belongings at the end of season one. That’s literally all I ask for.
Wow, Mrs. Blossom is an actual bitch for paying off her daughter’s would-be rapist. Like, I know she burned down your home of 20 years and threatened you when you were in the burn unit, but that’s no excuse.
Is this the first time Betty is seeing Jughead since the breakup? I wouldn’t have picked those butchy looking overalls for the occasion, but okay. Also, lol that she’s suddenly a mechanic who knows how to rebuild an engine.
Veronica finally tells her parents about the whole Nick thing, and I have mixed feelings about it. Like, this boy is definitely going to end up dead now, right? But also, he’s a would-be rapist, so I’m also here for it? Man, is really forcing me to ask the hard questions in life, huh?
The drag race starts, and it is extra. I didn’t realize that the secret to good gang relations was reenacting classic musicals, but you learn something new every day.
KEVIN: Not the type of drag race I thought I’d go to, but the guys here are much hotter.
Kevin is me. I am Kevin.
Betty is acting like a manipulative bitch, telling Jughead she still loves him before he’s about to illegally drag race for the fate of Riverdale. I’m sure that won’t distract him at all. I’ve never been prouder of her.
Quote of The Episode: “Not today, Cha Cha. I was born for this moment.”
Jesus Christ, Archie, you had one fucking job. To sit there and look pretty be Jughead’s number two and follow his lead, and you couldn’t even do that right.
The Ghoulies get arrested for street racing, and it’s all Archie’s fault. Surprise, surprise. Jughead is pissed, and honestly, it’s his own fault for trusting that dumb, beautiful face with the important job of doing absolutely nothing.
Cheryl finally shakes down her mother enough to figure out who the Sugar Man is, and if the town of Riverdale is anything like the real world, then he will most certainly be a white man in power. Looking at you, Sheriff Keller.
Wait, I am LIVING for this version of Betty talking to The Black Hood rn. She’s like, “Do you feel me now? I’m breathing down your neck, bitch, and you’re next.”
The Sugar Man is South Side High’s English teacher?? That actually makes a lot of sense, if only because teachers are poor and need a side hustle.
Okay, Fred is going to have a pill addiction this season, I’m calling it now. I can’t wait for Archie to use this as an excuse to build a shirtless militia against doctors and prescription drugs. Should be lit.
The Lodges arrange for the St. Clairs to get into a car accident, and Veronica is just like, “Oh well.” If this is the start of Dark Veronica, then I am here for it.
Wait, are Betty and Jughead back together? Did The CW just cheat me out of an emotional reunion and a possible dry humping session on Jughead’s kitchen counter? DID THEY? Once again, I’m livid.
Reddit’s IndianPeopleFacebook subreddit is devoted to “screenshots of Indian people being hilarious on social media,” which mostly boils down to mocking broken English or making fun of the stereotype of the lecherous Indian guy who tells women online to “show bobs and vagene.” Even at its best, the subreddit is putting forth racist and harmful ideas about Indian culture. At its worst, it’s making fun of a man and his disabled dad.
A meme called “Durgesh” was recently banned from the subreddit after it came to light that it had reportedly hurt the real people pictured. In the story of the meme, a young man called Sanjay kept trying to meet girls (sometimes underage girls) online, but whenever he showed up in person, he’d find that “54-year-old Durgesh” had catfished him. The wily Durgesh became a running joke on the subreddit, but his backstory was totally made up.
In real life, young “Sanjay” is reportedly named Durgesh. The man described as “54-year-old Durgesh” is his father, who is reportedly disabled.
The moderators of the subreddit found out the truth after a friend of “Sanjay” made a Facebook post explaining how the meme had hurt his family. They decided to put a stop to it.
“Okay fellas so I don’t usually share off-topic posts but just sharing this because pages, including the otherwise good philosophy pages I follow, have shared this meme. For people who don’t understand Hindi, the gist of it is that Durgesh is the guy in the meme (who’s being referred to as Sanjay), and the other one is Durgesh’s dad, who is disabled. The photos were stolen without their consent and it’s taking a toll on them,” wrote moderator atticus94 on Sunday.
Word has also spread on Twitter that the meme is a cruel prank. This tweet by @afghangster has been shared thousands of times already:
Oh wow, that’s messed up. Apparently the photos were all stolen to mock/troll him, reality is, it’s just a guy and his disabled father 😕 pic.twitter.com/Mx1oY4u0nw
The situation is especially dark because the photos were apparently stolen to troll the real Durgesh, and the IndianPeopleFacebook community unwittingly helped his harassers by turning them into a meme.
The Facebook post is mostly in Hindi, but the English passages make it clear enough what’s reportedly going on: An “enemy” used Dargesh’s image for a parody Instagram account called “Sanjay Kapoor.” “It went viral in minutes,” the poster explained.
The smear was especially hard on Durgesh’s “physically disabled 50 yr father,” the post continued: “no one knows what things he has gone through. 2 brain surgeries,,, his body is too weak for all this bullshit,,, … Durgesh is his only child,,, just think of it ,,,”
On IndianPeopleFacebook, though, not everyone is sympathetic. Instead, some are concerned with defending their right to joke.
“Why does it matter if he is disabled? Nobody is making fun of him or his appearance. He just isn’t a 13 year old girl,” one poster wrote.
“Yeah he doesn’t appear disabled in any of the photos nor is the meme making fun of him for being disabled or his appearance,” another added.
The most extreme comments attack the moderators for alleged censorship and equate them to Nazis for putting a damper on the meme. “Is this for real?” one poster writes. “Are there any memes on this sub you wouldn’t say are toxic? Who the hell let you decide where to draw the line? Can’t believe this place is run by meme nazis apparently. implying the pictured dude can’t handle being in a meme is toxic, your negativity is toxic- in fact far more toxic than those humorous Instagram posts fake or not.
“If you don’t like memes that make fun of Indian dudes maybe you should seriously consider stepping down as a mod of this sub seeing as that’s pretty much what this sub is entirely about.”
Alton Brown reviews dumbest kitchen gadgets
What neither the moderators nor their critics seem to have considered is that perhaps there shouldn’t be a subreddit dedicated to “memes that make fun of Indian dudes.”
The only difference between “Sanjay” and all the other men mocked by Indian memes is that “Sanjay” reportedly found out about it and pushed back.
Hold up – you literally stole a picture of a Thanksgiving pie to pass off as your own? — Matt McDermott (@mattmfm) November 24, 2017
But seriously, WTF, Sarah??
At least she finally (kind of?) acknowledged things when White House reporter April Ryan called her on it (below):
I am not trying to be funny but folks are already saying #piegate and #fakepie Show it to us on the table with folks eating it and a pic of you cooking it. I am getting the biggest laugh out of this. I am thankful for this laugh on Black Friday! https://t.co/ifeSBlSZW7 — AprilDRyan (@AprilDRyan) November 24, 2017
There’s nothing worse at the holidays than learning that your flight is delayed. With millions of people traveling and destinations that are WAY more appealing than the inside of an airport, finding out your plane is grounded for longer than you expected typically doesn’t bring out the pleasant side of folks.
One older gentleman named Sheldon Thornhill pulled out his accordion, while another man, Sean Sullivan, grabbed his guitar. But it was 10-year-old Liam Corrigan who stole the show! The youngster joined the musicians and blew the whole terminal away with his youthful singing voice.
“We knew he was a good singer so he came over and did a couple of solos on his own so that made the occasion all that much sweeter, you know,” Sean told local news.
The WestJet captain was even singing along!
Michelle Sacrey Philpott was one of the passengers who delighted in the show put on by her fellow travelers, posting several videos to Facebook of the impromptu performances.
By the time they landed in St. Johns, the videos had been viewed hundreds of thousands of times.
Of course, Michelle made sure to snap some selfies with the “talented musicians who entertained us at Toronto airport.”
These are the talented musicians that kept us entertained at Toronto airport.
It’s every parent’s dream that their child looks up to them one day and understands the sacrifices they’ve made to make their lives the best they can be.
Still, when it comes to Halloween, the kind of heroes kids choose to dress up as tend to be more out of this world. From Star Wars to Marvel, kids have so many choices in their costumes, and nowadays they’re pretty detailed and realistic. Dressing up like your favorite character to go trick or treating is awesome, but what about the everyday heroes?
One mom’s story is reminding us that some kids really recognize the sacrifices their parents make and that they know who the real heroes are.
She wrote in an Imgur post, “He had a hard time picking out a costume this year. We walked out of two Halloween stores empty handed, he didn’t wanna be any of the characters… Finally, Sunday night, I just told him to pick his FAVORITE HERO and I’d make the costume the next day. His eyes lit up and he yelled ‘Dad!'”
“His dad works long hours and rarely gets a day off. Hes not a lawyer or a doctor, as Im sure you all can tell already. He runs a kitchen in a restaurant and comes home greasy, stinky, and exhausted every night. He works really hard to take care of his family.”
“But hes damn proud of his son, and it was obvious when my son rang every door bell and shouted ‘TRICK OR TREAT – IM MY DAD!’ to strangers all night that hes really proud of his dad too. Im just really happy and wanted to share!”
This dynamic duo is proving that there’s no bond like the one between a parent and child. No one knew what he dressed up as for Halloween, but he didn’t care. He put on a costume that represents his real hero! I’m not crying, YOU’RE crying.
Thanksgiving is that one day a year where it’s socially acceptable to eat copious amounts of food in front of your family without any judgment whatsoever.
However, prior to the big feast, the stress involved in ensuring the meal makes it from kitchen to the dinner table can be too much for even the most calm and collected person. But when it comes to making Thanksgiving dinner easy and hassle free, why not take advantage of your crock-pot? If your slow cooker can help produce quality meals and side dishes without much prep every other day of the year, then why not use it on the one day where food is the star of the show?
So to help get your slow cooker Thanksgiving started, here are 18 crock-pot recipes that the entire family is sure to gobble down.
President Trump outlined more than a dozen demands lawmakers must consider before passing immigration and DACA reform. From increased immigration enforcement agents to border wall funding: could the demands stonewall any hopes of legislative action?
Hundreds of protestors stormed the Hart Senate Office Building near the U.S. Capitol on Thursday, hung banners and staged a loud demonstration demanding a no-strings-attached solution to allow immigrants brought to our country illegally as children to remain here. Fifteen were arrested by Capitol Police.
About 800,000 such immigrants have been protected from deportation since 2012 under a program begun under the Obama administration called DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals). But in early September, Attorney General Jeff Sessions and the program would end in six months, giving Congress time to pass legislation before then to extend protections for young people now here under DACA, who are known as Dreamers.
I am very pro-DACA. I have advocated both publicly and privately to the White House, including to the president himself, for extending its protections.
Since DACA recipients entered the United States as children, they had no say in violating our immigration laws. As such, they comprise a totally separate category from adult illegals who willfully violate our rules.
I believe a compromise can be reached. But unruly, disrespectful activists make that process harder with their outrageous tactics.
Governing and legislating require compromise. It would be totally foolish for the White House to extend DACA protections without receiving concessions in return, which is what the protestors demanded Thursday.
It is only reasonable for the White House to require more resources to protect our border and action to move toward a merit-based immigration system in return for continuing DACA protections.
Importantly, illegal immigrants – no matter how much empathy I maintain for them – have no standing to make loud demands of the American people. Their attitudes should convey incredible gratitude that this country – unique among nations – shows such compassion to people who do not belong here legally.
As a pro-DACA Latino, I urge these groups to cease using the leftist radical tactics of the so-called “Occupy” movement, and instead make a humble, reasoned case to persuade America why they should be allowed to stay.
The ethical and economic arguments for extending DACA are compelling. But storming a government building and forcing the police to make numerous arrests creates a counterproductive antagonism.
As an analogy, if uninvited guests came to your home and you decided to accommodate them, would your willingness persist if they jumped on your kitchen table, started screaming and pledged to never leave?
Or would you then call the police and have them summarily removed?
Many of these activists would respond that they are, in fact, Americans. Some, like illegal immigrant journalist Jose Antonio Vargas, have created entire careers out of such double-speak, exemplified by his “Define American” group.
Well, Jose, the term “American” can be defined in precisely six words: a citizen of the United States. It is a legal term in a country where rights are defined by laws – not by force.
I am a citizen because I was born here, and I thank God daily for that good fortune. My father was a citizen because he immigrated here legally. This concept is not difficult to understand and is not up for debate.
Legal Hispanics, whether immigrant or native-born, represent a treasure to this country. America so benefits from the culture, hard work, faith, and family ethos of 50 million Hispanics who call America home.
I hope and pray that the DACA young adults are soon welcomed permanently into our country, and I humbly ask Congress and President Trump to ignore the radicals and work expeditiously toward a reasonable compromise.
Steve Cortes is a Fox News contributor, former Trump campaign operative and spokesman for the Hispanic 100. For two decades, he worked on Wall Street as a trader and strategist.