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Thank You, Hollywood, for Finally Representing Queer People as the Manipulative Little Shits We Are

It’s no news that queer representation has been an issue in Hollywood. Since the birth of media, the narratives of people like me have been rejected from the big screen in favor of the same love story between a man and a woman being reiterated again and again. 

Now That I'm Off Social Media, My Asshole Sparkles Like a Diamond


I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I deleted the apps for Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook last week, and let me tell you, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. You know why? Because I realized I was spending more time scrolling and liking than living, and also because as soon as I did, my asshole began to shine brighter than a diamond.

Overdosing Is Bad, But I’m Hungry and My Vitamin D Adult Gummies Taste So Good

Years ago, the D.A.R.E. program warned me not to become a statistic. Sure, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration has over a century of experience crafting careful nutrition guidelines. But right now, it’s 4am and I stand alone in my dorm room. Even El Jefe’s—that gastronomic patron saint of students with poor life choices—has closed her doors for the night. The only thing left at Brain Break is a giant loaf of that weird marble bread that nobody likes. I beg myself to just go to sleep and wake up early for breakfast tomorrow…

LEAKED: Draft of “My Recent Representation”

Dean Sullivan

Dear Eliot hey Stephanie what’s the name of this place again Winthrop Throp Students,

I, Too, Can Fuck

Mark Zuckerberg

Stop it. Just please stop. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t understand. Please stop talking about how much Jeff Bezos fucks. I don’t even think the nudes are his. I’m not just saying this because the idle thought of staging an elaborate affair and leaking my own nudes to the press occurs to me at least twice daily and four times on Wednesday. What do you mean “the top of the pubic region can be seen”? Jeff Bezos has no pubic hair. Or any hair. Jeff Bezos is a naked mole rat stacked on top of three small children. 

I’m Not Racist, I Have Black Friends (That I Want to Kill)

So I know you’ve all been getting pretty worked up about some statements I made a couple days ago. But let me assure you, the whole thing was a big misunderstanding, I swear. I love black people. After white people, they’re probably my favorite race. I have so many black friends. Like at least three. Would a racist even have one black friend? You tell me. 

Why Can’t We Go Back to the Good Old Days in America, When the Life Expectancy Was 32?

Old man fisherman

You know what really bothers me? The weakness in Americans today. We used to be men, and look at us now. Just a bunch of whining babies. For example, did you know my great great grandfather had seven children, and only two of them lived past the age of three? Now that was the real America. And he only lived to be twenty five, when he broke his back while working his barren farm and got eaten by a passing bear, like a real man.

Our Sex Life Should Be Between You, Me, and My Four Roommates

girls whispering

In our social media-driven age, people are so used to broadcasting every little activity they do to the entire world. That’s fine, but when it comes to romance and intimacy, the particulars should stay private. Call me old fashioned, but I just think some things aren’t meant to be shared. So if we hook up, you can trust that no one's going to know the graphic details besides you, me, and my four roommates.

Bro, Reindeer are so Whipped by Santa

Santa and reindeer

Dude, I remember when it was me and the reindeer going out every night to the bars, just living it up, crushing brews, and talking to chicks. We were a band of brothers man, and nobody told us what to do.

I No Longer Know Where I End and Timothée Chalamet Begins

It is with a heavy heart I announce that I no longer have any idea where I end and my hero, Timothée Chalamet, begins.

It started so innocently -- I just wanted to dress, look, and behave like everyone’s favorite Oscar-nominated indie god, but I have gone too far. I cannot remember my name, the details of my own life, or any piece of information about who I was before I became a living embodiment of the very soul, personality, and physical being of Mr. Chalamet.