unaired Friendzone episodes

Rob and Big: Too bromantic.

Catherine and Heathcliff: Too long. Too boring.

Calvin and Hobbes: Too furry.

The kids from Bridge to Terabithia: Love interest died during filming.

Oedipus and Mom: Oedipus didn’t want them to air it. He felt he was blind-sided at the end of the episode. The producers agreed; the end was unsightly.

Kanye West and himself: It was clear from the get-go that they were already much more than friends.

stalking 2.0

    Stalking used to be easy.

    In high school, all you had to do was wait for the day the school directory came out, steal your mom’s minivan after she went to sleep, drive it to the person’s house, break in their back door, tiptoe to their room, reach under their mattress, take their diary, and take a heavenly whiff of their hair before bailing out of their second story window.

    In college, all you had to do was send them a Facebook friend request, wait to get rejected as usual, take a picture of the hot girl on your hall, make a fake profile for her, send a new request from said hot girl, and voilà: you knew everything you needed to know. 

    Nowadays, there is the feeling that you can never really know everything there is to know about a person. The rise of apps and websites with user-created profiles has created a diversification of trivial information that can be found. Stalkers these days might feel like a tiny sand crab staring into the endless Pacific Ocean. We meekly tap our pincers on our keyboards. Wherever to begin?

    Do they have a Google+ account? What are those even for, anyway?

    What is their most watched YouTube video? Please don’t let it be David After Dentist or any of those Annoying Orange ones…

    Do they have an OkCupid? Are they even INTERESTED in your gender? Does their profile picture include a dog, guitar, or small child? If so, you don’t stand a chance.

    What was the last article they read on Yahoo News?

    What was the last pair of running shoes they bought on Zappos? Is their gait neutral?

    Do they have a LinkedIn? God, I hope not.

    Did someone think they were worthy of having a Vimeo?

    What songs do they thumbs-down on Pandora?

    How many fights have they started via YouTube comments? How many have they walked away from with their head held high?

   What is their top-played Portuguese electro-pop ballad from the 90’s on Spotify?

   DID THEY HAVE A XANGA IN MIDDLE SCHOOL AND OH MY GOD IS IT CACHED SOMEWHERE IN THE DEPTHS OF THE INTERNET?

    How many classics are on their Goodreads bookshelf

    Are they smarter than a 5^th grader?

    What are their favorite buttons on Fart Soundboard?

    Who do they follow on Twitter? How many of their tweets end in #YOLO?

    Wait, WAIT! Do they have a Blogger? Do they use it to tell you their opinions on women, Howard Huge, Skrillex, and emo? 

     Well never mind, then! Your target’s an open book!

     Fuck.

13 modern-day tragedies

13. That Facebook tells you what news articles people read.

12. That Facebook is full of little bitches trying to brag about shit like what news articles they read.

11. That I’m not doing so well in FarmVille right now and all of my Facebook friends know about it.

10. That “Skrillex Hair” is now a hairstyle.

9. That Skrillex is a recording artist.

8. That Skrillex is a human being.

7. That they fucking stopped making those sneakers that lit up every time you took a step. All I ever hear about is how LED technology is progressing…isn’t that a pretty big counterexample?

6. That I can no longer get caffeine and alcohol in the same $1.99 bottle. (Not to mention Taurine and Guarana.)

5. That Haley-Joel Osment isn’t hot.

4. That I can’t tell wether or not ur trollin me rite now(?)

3. That our generation is getting totally screwed by pensions for the elderly…or something. I didn’t actually read it, but my newsfeed told me that a bunch of you pretentious fucks did.

2. That Skrillex has a GIRLFRIEND? And she ALSO has Skrillex Hair?

1. That anyone should ever have to apologize for party rocking.

this one's for the girls

    You’re a girl.

    Your favorite place to eat lunch is Panera.

    You had never tried beer until they came out with Bud Light and Lime.

    You tell stories that include the necessary epilogue of, “You had to be there.” You’re laughing like a coquettish maniac that makes us all think, my god, I suppose we can’t judge since we weren’t there, but I really hope we had to be there, or else this girl has a serious mental disability.

    You think Dane Cook is funny. You kind of wish he was your bf.

    You think Ellen is funny. You kind of wish she was your bff (BNIAGW).

    Your favorite karaoke songs are “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” “I Will Survive,” and “Love is a Battlefield.” Depending on the number of Smirnoff Ices you’ve consumed beforehand, they are all dedicated to your ex-boyfriend.

    Your ex-boyfriend is a lying son of a bitch.

    His new girlfriend is a whore, and I mean seriously, she JUST got out of college. How could you have ever dated someone THAT immature? It doesn’t matter, you got your girls with you, and the club is playing the terrible rap song that has a dance that goes with it that just came out last week and THIS IS YOUR SONG, you announce.

    You go to wedding showers and baby showers and you do gift registries and you eat a very tiny piece of cake while you’re there and hold back tears and just hope to god that this will happen for you someday.

    You go out to Georgetown, Dupont, Adams Morgan…any place that is inconvenient to get to and has a 400% mark-up on drinks.

    You take at least 300 pictures every time you go out.

    Of those 300, at least 50 make it on Facebook.

    You spend the next morning looking through said pictures, laughing maniacally and screaming, “DETAG! DETAG!!!”

    You go to Zumba class thinking that you’re really going to get into shape and show said ex-boyfriend, goddammit, this is what you’re missing out on, you lying son of a bitch. When you get home from Zumba, you have a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for dinner while watching Sex and the City and thinking I’m totally the Miranda of my group.

    Your underpants cost more than most work pants.

    Your sweatpants cost more than you make in a month. After all, how affordably can they stud the word, “Hottie” in diamonds to the ass of something? You think it’s a decent value.

    You are probably the reason for the gender pay gap. 

mood: untitled

       Oh, you. You're so postmodern.

       This is you: Hey guys, I wrote this new song for our band. I know what we'll name it. Something with the right amount of edge and mystery. No one will really be ready for this shit. We're going to take over the world. Well, not the whole world. But the really cool part of the world that knows what the baser part of the world will never know. A very small minority of the world. No more than 5,000 Youtube users' worth of the world.
       We'll name this shit "Untitled."
       But that's the title. How mind-blowingly paradoxical, right?

       You should know that there are currently 12 tracks on my iTunes titled "Untitled." And I don't mean things that I forgot to manually tag when ripping CD's from unsuspecting ex-boyfriends in the early 00's. I mean shit that they literally titled "Untitled."
       Yeah, I get what you were trying to do there, but like duct-tape wallets, that practice is OOOOOVVVVEEEERRR.
        I mean Kasimir Malevich was really on to something when he painted an enormous fucking black square and called it art. Or, maybe you will argue that it was the fact that it was the "absence" of art that made it so damn remarkable. Or, maybe you will argue that it was the sheer interplay of contrast, the dichotomy of the universe, the sex & death of it all...
        No. It was a big black square. That is all. And it was a really nice black square, Kasimir. I will not deny you that!
        But no one would try to make a second big black square and expect it to have the same effect.
        It's just like Marcel Duchamp's Fountain (spoiler: it's a urinal). Nobody was about to make a second pee-fountain and call it art once again. Yet Creed keeps making music...

       Alright, bros. Don't get your boxer-briefs in a bunch about it (is that what you're wearing these days?!) Just give it a title! Any title! Anything other than "Untitled" will do. Even if it is only ONE letter off from "Untitled." How about "Untittled?" And then you can be SO cool and stylize the "i" on the back of the album cover to be without the dot! Because a "tittle" is what you call the little dot on top of a lowercase i! Funny, right?