I first met Alli in seventh grade, which was easily the most cringeworthy year of my life. In college, I happened to answer an ad her housemate placed. We ended up becoming roommates, then best buddies, then workmates. She comes from a family of artists, and is the only lawyer I know who is deeply into decoupage.
You know those people who you can ask anything? Like you say, “I need a twelve single men, an armadillo, and a Danish-modern credenza in this room within the next three hours,” and they can make it happen? Alli’s one of those.
Years ago, I worked at my campus newspaper and used to get letters from inmates. (I think there’s a law that allows them free postage to write the press.) The letters were all written in pencil, and many of THEM had RANDOMLY capitalized WORDS, which the author further emphasized by going over them again and again until there were word-shaped holes in the page. Every inmate wanted a female pen pal, so they provided vital stats:
“I like romantic evenings with a beautiful woman where we could go on a picnic and listen to some Tini (sic) Marie. I also like to visit museums, like the La Brea Tard (sic) Pits.”
Wistful now? You wish you had an inmate penpal of your very own, don’t you? Well, I’m here for you. Jail Babes, “A Pen-Pal and Singles Introduction Service.” Enjoy.
I took an Italian art history course in college. The whole class could be described by something the professor said absently one day, “Today we’re going to talk about another… big church.”
My second favorite art-history moment was when my modern art professor spent half an hour talking about a Mondrian painting before realizing that the slide was in upside down.
Subject: A reporter’s post-holiday laments.
I am sick at work and awaiting an excruciating article
assignment, which will probably be a New Year’s
resolution, man-on-the-street story. I will have
to go to gyms and ask people why they decided to get
slim for the New Year or track down smokers who may
be willing to quit for the New Year. This is akin to
the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping
stories I’ve had to do the last two years.
If we still used pencils or pens, I would commit
Hari-Kari with one as we speak…maybe this keyboard is
sharp enough. Nope.
Going through old magazines, I came across the stupidest headline of 1999: Are Your Nails Ready for Y2K?
“Yeah Bob, I’m out on that Y2K nail compliancy call, and we’ve got a few problems over here. Looks like she’s got on a little Revlon Wine With Everything, but she used an incompatible top coat so it’s chipping. Yeah, and her cuticles are all messed up…”
When I was in college, I had an art history professor who would dock our papers an entire grade if they didn’t have titles. So I wouldn’t forget, I wrote “The Coolest Title in the World Goes Here” on my title page. Of course, I never got back to it and I turned the paper in. The best part is, the paper was on “art in public spaces.” Tragically, if one leaves the “l” out of public, spell check doesn’t catch it. Even if you leave the “l” out two or three times.
Fat Chicks in Party Hats will make you feel like a creep for laughing. The barely English captions are so incredibly random that you can’t stop scrolling. The caption for this one reads, “my date for the prom did taste like choclate! BURP! oh i am so alone.”
Stolen from Metafilter.
This site’s creators aren’t disturbed by the lude nature of amateur porn photography, but the zebra-print drapes must go.
Obscene Interiors has painstakingly cropped out all the extraneous nudity, so you can experience the full horror of beaded avacado bedspreads without distraction.