For the record

Yesterday (June 23) my son PJ, who turned 8 in February, finally rode a bike with no training wheels and no parent hanging on. He's currently riding a beat-up 16-inch, but already has a shiny, metallic red 20-inch bike ready and waiting for his legs to grow a bit.

Sally Ann asked whether this meant she would have to learn to ride a two-wheeler, but we told her no, she can stick with her "grown-up tricycle". (Looks like this one, but hers is homemade and painted black.)

Laugh it up, fuzzball

This is a wonderful way to spend 60 seconds in the middle of a workday:

The "Gay Bomb"

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try not to, something offensive is simultaneously so ridiculous that you simply must laugh.