As a former Florida tax attorney, I’m not sure I can completely endorse Mr. Dong Resin’s taxation suggestions for the Sunshine State, but they’re a hell of a lot smarter and more inventive than any put forward by the state legislature. To wit:

Any white kid who lives in a gated community but talks like Flavor Flav did when he was still on the rock has to pay $12,000 a year to the NAACP. $14,000 if he tries to intimidate people with it.

Steve Martin had a story on McSweeney’s on Friday. I skipped over it in favor of Josh Abraham’s An Open Letter to Umlaut. An excerpt:

You’re all, “Ooh, look at me, I’m a chic umlaut. I make girls’ names look modish, like Zoë and Chloë, and I rock with strung out 80s metal bands!”

“If the Market Near My House Were a Baseball Game, and You Were a Fan,” by Roy Kesey.

“Lovebuzz,” by Mike Topp

You all read this, yes?

Choose your own New York City adventure.

Hindsight: “It was primarily the series of accidental deaths, more than the wild accusations of ‘gross negligence’, that got me fired from my job as a crossing guard at the School for the Blind.”