An Open Letter on Maturity to Jonathan from His Penis
I've had it. The picture of me in your "cool" MeUndies boxer briefs that you just sent to eleven different women really pushed me over the edge.
I've had it. The picture of me in your "cool" MeUndies boxer briefs that you just sent to eleven different women really pushed me over the edge.
I'm wearing a transparent red teddy while I fondle myself to thoughts of your survival preparations. That’s because I'm outside of the fallout zone.
Hon… are you there? Pick up? When I get home, I must keep away from kids. No want kids get sick. I'll sneak into bedroom. Turn on Nintendo, if I have strength.
Tim Cook's voice sounded almost dreamlike as it reverberated off the pillars and buttresses of the repurposed superchurch that served as Apple's Announcement Pod.
Does metabolism really have anything to do with taking off your shirt, screaming "I want to feel alive!" and diving face first into a 360-degree twisted tube slide?
This time I'm really going to buckle down and clean up my digital clutter. But not before I add some dream vacation spots to my Pinterest board.
Dad?! What are you doing down here? Clara Robertson's picture? Ew, Dad, that's my old classmate, why do you even follow her on Instagram?
If we slept together and haven't spoken in over two months, please throw my number in the trash. Otherwise, please refer to this guide for appropriate actions.
I’m sitting at work, swiping right like I have a muscle spasm and three women have gone by when I begin to ask myself, was that Megan?
From 150 miles under the bandstand of Toms River, NJ, a demon explains what it's like to be a timeshare telemarketer in Hell.
Hello, Verizon? It's Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
I am one of the sometimes disillusioned yet endlessly friendly 911 dispatchers, and I am here to share some highlights of the people wasting your tax dollars.