Bob Odenkirk breaks down the word "hopelessness" in this depressing-ass poem that should be handed out to college students on class registration day. Because with a degree in something like embroidery, you'll be spending the rest of your life wallowing in…
Hey Thomas, Johnny hasn't turned in his new comic yet and he's not answering his phone or email. I want you to go out to his place and see what's up.
A few months ago, a death-row inmate sent our music editor a fan letter. He seems like a nice guy on paper—on the other hand, he did shoot and hack a guy in, and and put them into a suitcase.
Australia has to deal with thousands of illegal immigrants sneaking through its borders each year. We spoke to a patrol-boat sailor to find out what it's really like out there on the wild sea.
I am an American reporter. Aziz and I have worked together in Afghanistan since 2004. On this trip, I am reporting on the consequences of more than 30 years of war by spending time with a handful of its victims.
You're going to die a poor, sad schmuck. But do you know who is rich? Animals! The following pets are all millionaires, and you're still trying to use that expired student ID to get two bucks off at the movies on Tuesday night.
Dr. Brewster, you have a phone call from your mother. She says it's extremely urgent. "Andrew this is your mother. I need you to give me a ride."
She walked into the other room and came back holding up a Santa suit. And you bet your ass I put it on. I put it on like it was my bar mitzvah suit and we had to be at temple in five minutes.
Couldn't the consistently shitty foundation of almost everything we are and live with be some kind of necessary substructure of checks and balances? Like, a carefully evolutionary-ed trias politica, in the interest of maintaining a relatively stable level…