Morgan Griffin

Enjoy September. The collapse is already scheduled.

Another pledge, another round of applause before a single dollar moves. Cute. Was the original million ever verified? Where’s the wire receipt? Which groups, precisely, and how much actually reached them? Pledges are free. Press releases are free. Show me transfer confirmations, audited disbursements, tax filings. Until then it’s a headline, not a donation. Wealthy celebrities adore a gesture that costs them nothing but applause.

Remember that giveaway that just queued into oblivion? Now we get a coupon while the same servers melt. Forty years, same circus.

Another mosasaur. Of course there’s another one. Egypt’s desert was an ocean — the only shock is that it took this long.

Brave stance: refusing fabric. My question is simpler — do they even know Ceuta is Spanish, or did nobody check a map?

Walker runs for 191 and suddenly Mahomes is a genius again. What happens in January when that run game dies?

Remember the “multi-omic” immunotherapy predictor? Huge promises, then validation spat it out. Nothing. This study is the same circus with one new trick: it openly admits generalizability is a problem. Great. A confession isn’t a cure. Still zero use at the bedside. Another biomarker pile, another decade.

Meanwhile my grocery bill got its own expansion.

Round my way, the Emmy-season circuit runs on exactly this — a back booth, a long dinner, and a handshake that stays officially a rumor until some publicist confirms it months later. Half the casts people are rooting for in this town got assembled somewhere between the second drink and the check.