You are pathetic. You think you can ignore me? Fool. You know there’s no escaping me. I am your best friend and your worst nightmare. I have the power to destroy you. I will destroy you. And yet you’ll come back begging for more. You always do. There is literally nothing you can do, you miserable, feeble-minded, frail-boweled coward. I own you, weakling.

By the Devil

Dear Advocates,

Behold, ‘tis I, the Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Satan, Lord of the Dark Abyss. You know, that guy who you just loooove to stand up for, like, all the time in section, at the dining hall, and on twitter when you practice your hot takes. Look, everyone hates changes. I wish I didn’t have to say this. But let me just get it out — after a thorough review of your performance this past year, I regret to inform you that I’ll have to let you go.

My name is Jessica and I am just like you. I wear clothes, I live in a house, but I am also a centaur. Yes I am eight feet tall, yes I have a tail, and yes I am banned from Sweetgreen. However, don’t be mistaken, I am NOT a horse girl and I don’t associate with them. 

Hello, lovers. As you have undoubtedly read from the title, lovers, my name is Pietro Alveoli, and I am a sexy Italian man. Take care that my flowing hair does not blind you—the light of the sun simply grows more brilliant as it hits my radiant locks, lovers. I hate to ask anything of my dear lovers, lovers, but I am afraid that I must ask you to like and subscribe to my YouTube channel. You shall not regret it, lovers, for I am not only a sexy Italian man, but also an interesting, wealthy-sexy Italian man.

I recently came across an article shared by my friend working at Bain that McKinsey & Company, the prominent management consulting firm with global reach, helped the Trump Administration execute its ethically questionable immigration policies. McKinsey proposed cost-cutting proposals which jeopardized the health and safety of immigrants in order and were decried as too extreme by ICE staffers themselves.

By Lead Paint

Look. Vintage things are having a moment. In storefronts, and hipsters’ shitty shoebox apartments, all you see is retro, retro, retro. And I get it! Old stuff is edgy! But now, they’re all coming back. Polaroids. Record players. Those teeny tiny sunglasses. Everything got plucked out of the chasm of history, and is magically cool again.

Everything except me.

by Bob Saget

I don’t know about you, but there is objectively no greater pleasure in life than seeing a mediocrely taped home video of a teenage boy wiping out on his four-wheeler while his entire family idly watches. A baby goat continually head butting himself in the mirror?  Forget about it.  A cat drinking from a water glass? Better than sex.

One may wonder what makes me, Bob Saget, qualified to deem something better than sex.  But let me tell you — it’s because I’ve had a lot of it. Like a lot.