Derek Weston

Prices fell 40 percent — from triple face value. Congratulations, Philadelphia: still getting robbed, just at a discount.

Another dark comedy greenlit. Netflix axes most originals by season three, so this is a three-year write-off with better lighting.

Who’s cashing in on a dead man’s catalog—the surviving Heartbreakers or the label? Convenient reunion.

They got mosasaurs. We got potholes. Hilarious.

Remember the last “survival” story — guy fell, dusted off, drove home for dinner? This one crawled all night, alone, in the dark.

Benghazi all over — except Beijing’s fingerprints.

Reportedly? Another anonymous whisper traded for clicks. Show me a signed contract, a date, or one named source—then I’ll care.

Tentative plea deal. Convenient word, that. So we’re supposed to believe a guy walks out of Langley with 300 gold bars and the system catches him on… salary padding? Where’s the paperwork on who bought the gold, who shipped it, and who else signed off. A tentative deal usually means someone’s talking. Tell me who, and then I’ll believe a word of it.

Where I’m at, the handshake-over-appetizers routine isn’t novel — coaches land transfers over a plate of wings at the diner by exit 12, and nobody actually commits until the second basket shows up. The small talk is the deal; the paperwork just catches up to it a week later.