By my calculations, I’m now on my NINTH consecutive day of being Freshly Pressed. I am beginning to think somebody died in their mom’s basement and hasn’t been discovered yet, because Mom died five years ago, and the basement has a separate walk-down. So, Mom is a mummy in a now-dry bathtub on the second floor and Junior (no offense H.E.) is beginning to bloat and leak into what used to be his keyboard, which shorts out but comes failingly close to starting a fire that will ultimately rescuse BrainRants from the ongoing deluge of comments on his FP selection. For the love of God, make this shit stop.