One of the many fabulous things our friend Brendan showed us this weekend -- besides his mind-blowing seven-minute interpretive dance to "I'm Bossy" -- was Drunk History. Since I spent much of my weekend in a similar state, I don't have the brain power to write about anything witty or even almost-funny today. So instead, I'll let the drunks to the job for me. Per usual.
And also I'm not sure what it says that I remember more from drunkenly watching drunk people talk about history than I did in, like, eight years of gradeschool history class. Or as they liked to call it in Catholic school, social studies. And now I'm sitting here wondering if the pope was trying to keep all our little malleable minds away from books with the word history on the cover just in case we ever came across something that suggested that God didn't create the world in six days and then rested on the seventh. It was George Washington. And then he discovered America. And then I saw him at the Phillies game. And then I slept with Paul Rudd. Just kidding on that last part there. Still trying to bag that stud muffin.