The words synonym and antonym are antonyms. Well played, antonym.

Every generation gets the "Arthur" it deserves.

Pavlov? Nope, name doesn't ring a bell.

P.F. Chang's is to Chinese food, as Red Lobster is to Chinese food.

Twitter is merely a trap to turn a large group of narcissists into exhibitionists.

I pride myself in having Been There and Avoided That.

Three hours on the cross? Tell me about it, I wasted six years watching "Lost."

The chocolate truffles I'm eating are so dark, they must've been read Dostoyevsky as bedtime stories.

All elite liberal arts colleges do is provide the restaurant industry with wait staff who can pronounce the name Camus.

That I shouldn't have been eating a Whopper Jr standing at the urinal makes dropping it in no less the tragedy.

At this point, group photos of Aerosmith are indistinguishable from publicity stills for a roadshow of "Cats."

"It's a bird, it's a plane..." It's someone who confuses ornithology with geometry.

Nike re-signed quarterback Michael Vick to an endorsement deal. Surely, negotiations are ongoing between Baby Gap and Casey Anthony.

Our long national nightmare of how to properly spell "Gaddafi" is almost at an end.

I now have 360 "followers." Watch your back Anderson Cooper, coming up on you fast! Wait a minute, let me rephrase that...

Ahhh, Fall Out Boy, a band I could listen to for literally seconds.

When you learn that the "P.F." in P.F. Chang's stands for Peter Frampton, it all starts to make sense.

Pretty high; not Eddie Vedder-playing-a-ukulele high, but pretty high.

If not for the 140 character limit, I'd be stretching these tweets out like dueling Neil Young and Danny Whitten guitar solos on peyote.

I doubt the authenticity of the Mexican restaurant at a suburban mall where the men's room is not labeled "caballeros."