Every time I am about to say something hilariously stupid, right before that I plan to say in sage, orphic tones, “Time for some game theory.”

The problem is knowing that you are going to say something hilariously stupid.

Ok, time for some game theory: if you invalidate the Chuch-Turing hypothesis, then one can calculate in advance all possible configurations of dumbassery in one’s world line, and then when a DA configuration approaches, one can unleash “time for some game theory.”

I game theoried all of that, fuck yeah!

Four reasons to drink beer with your breakfast.

Turns out my mom was a foodie hipster.

Why, she could imbibe as many as 18 beers with her breakfast. No, in fact, the beers were her breakfast. Double-hipster, then.

My mom was leading food trends, pioneering culinary and libatory adventures, all the way back in the late 1980s.

Oh no, wait — she was just a North Florida drunk. Never mind.