By stuffisthings on Benghazi Tweeters' Shocking Secrets
@latenac Depends, if you think Bill Clinton killed Vince Foster then it might be worth looking into.
4
By mollytheviking on Ask Polly: My Best Friend Is In Love With My Sister!
HOLY SHIT that is me in that photo, hugging the statue. What did you people search to find that photo? From 2007.
I registered just to share this. Mind still in pieces on the floor.
6
By Niko Bellic on Ask Polly: My Best Friend Is In Love With My Sister!
"as we are all ladies in our 20s and that is pretty much our main interest"
Time to develop some new interests. I wish Polly would ignore letters from kids whose only problem is that they are growing up. Or maybe I'm just too old for this shit.
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By Edward Hemingway@twitter on Would You Like To Own This Wacky Telegram From Ernest Hemingway?
My mother, formerly Valerie Danby-Smith and now Valerie Hemingway, read the above and responded thusly-
"Some inaccuracies here. This is not a telegram but a note that was written on a telegraph blank pad, for one."
2
By My Number Is My Address on Life So Awful Now People Pine For The Era Of Billy Squier, Joysticks, 'Scarecrow And Mrs. King'
Scarecrow and Mrs King was good. Better than Walking Dead at any rate.
3
By Danzig! on The Entire History Of Human Communication Culminates In This Moment
Wood Thrush is/was Mobutu Sese Seko of Gawker fame, if that's not clear.
Remember your first internet forum? Remember the people everyone seemed to believe were cool? Remember how sad and venal they were in retrospect? Remember how some of them clearly suffered from intense mental illness? Imagine if Katie Natoupolis endlessly fawned over them on a major website.
1
By melis on Princeton, the Worst School on Earth (Part 38 in a Series)
"My older son had the good judgment and great fortune to marry a classmate of his, but he could have married anyone. My younger son is a junior and the universe of women he can marry is limitless."
He could marry any or all of the Dixie Chicks, a sentient crab, a mid-tier chain of Central European hotels, the reanimated corpse of Noel Coward, whomever. He could marry me, if he really wanted to. I would leave my husband, if he asked. He went to Princeton, you know. My son, that is. My son. My son, to whom I gave birth. He could marry Amphitrite, the foam-fleck'd queen of the seas. I love him so much, my son that I have. Sometimes at night I go into his dorm and hold a mirror under his nose just to make sure that he's still breathing and that Hecate, witch-queen of hell, has kept our bargain and will not come for his soul until the seventh night of the seventh year of his first-born son. Hecate will take any opportunity to cheat, you know, but I'm as wily as she is. I know the worm tunnels of Hell as well as she; my talons draw blood as readily as hers.
She will come for the spirit of my son at her peril. I will drown the seas in her blood, if she comes a day too soon.
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By Maura Johnston on The Five Worst Kinds of Co-Workers
My Co-Worker? My Co-Worker Seems So Lazy But I'm Also Scared About My Co-Worker
15
By jbsquare on New York City to Ban Awls
I think they are actually banning the sending of awl newsletters because that would explain why I haven't received one in awhile.
8
By Niko Bellic on Rooms Depressing
@Logan5 Not crazy, just a bit out of it, Amanda Berry.