Today, editors Jennifer Wright and Ashley Cardiff are debating the age old question of cohabitation: should you live with your significant other? …Obviously we don’t mean because we are delicate flowers and don’t want to encourage unclean sexual urges; more like because sometimes you want to stay up all night, drinking in bed, watching TV, eating takeout. Sometimes you want to be a scumbag. But does a significant other hinder that?
Read the discussion and then let us know: Is it better to live alone? Or better to
save on rent live in love?
So last week I was sitting in a park, watching babies luxuriate on swings like chubby little sultans and I resented them for it. The next day, I was outside one of the hospitals on my “evening rounds” thinking about babies, still. I was there in that dumpster full of bio-waste, careful not to touch any needles, in search of delicious hospital Jell-O, and thinking, “God, babies are the fucking worst.” And then I looked up into that brick fortress above and More
Sometimes I like to sit in parks and have deep thoughts and look kind of tortured because I’m convinced it makes people think I’m interesting. So I’ll just sit there on a bench, maybe smoke a cigarette, have some coffee, with this kind of furrowed, penetrating, far-and-away gaze. Most of the time I’m either thinking about where I can score some glue or I’m just not thinking about fucking anything, because I did score some glue. If you’re wondering right now, “What’s wrong with you? It’s way easy to score glue.” My reply to you is, “Not if Rite Aid has your picture on the wall.” Wiseass. Anyway, one day More
This week’s Misanthropologist is all a product of my imagination because 1) I have a gallery prepared for you and 2) look, galleries take a lot of time and energy, and sitting upright is kind of a hassle when there’s all this decaying Halloween candy I found on dashboards of unlocked cars parked outside the Y (they go awesome with dumpster jello shots) (shut up). So I was thinking I should probably comment on this whole Christine O’Donnell brouhaha, only I have no clue what happened. These are the facts I know More
We didn’t want to do these before Halloween, because we didn’t want to go putting ideas into any of your heads. Because we think you’re the kind of assholes who would think it was funny to give these out, basically.
I tell them I’m going to a funeral. I try to let some tears well up in my eyes a little bit. And then they go away, mortified, and I’m pretty sure that they’ll never, ever do it again.
I do this because I hate being told to do things by strangers. And it always sort of astonishes me the number of people who – while you’re walking around, contemplating the nature of Schopenhauer’s pessimism – will interrupt your reverie by exclaiming “smile!” Who are you, stranger? Who are you? The smile police? Fuck the smile police.
“Cheer up” is also popular. But I am not necessarily feeling cheerful at that moment. You want me to cheer up? It means that much to you? Pass me a $10 bill. You won’t even have to say anything, I’ll smile for that. Or, you know, a vodka bottle. Or diamonds! Pass me a fistful of diamonds and a gold bar! But people shouldn’t have to do things just because you demand it, without you putting in any effort whatsoever.
Other popular office responses include: More