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Everything Is Terrible
Journalism, of course, has been getting a lot of crap from His Royal Cheeto (also known as: The Dictatingest Orangey Dictator, He Who Can’t Read Or Speak Good, and Damn He Racist). But to be honest, journalists didn’t really help themselves leading up to what is now what I call the Everything Is Terrible era.
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A Mosh Pit Full of Fist Pumps Episode II
2015 was such a whirlwind. A blur. A ride. An adventure. A spectacle. A blast. A rollercoaster. A peanut. Crap, I lost it. Let’s just say, a lot of stuff happened.
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New Year’s Eve, Party of Two
I’ve had my share of extravagant New Year’s Eves. But this year was the craziest one yet. There was booze and wild dance moves and fisticuffs and A ROUSING GAME OF SCRABBLE. OK fine. Franco and I stayed in because we’re old and that’s what old people do. And you know what? It was awesome.
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Pork Chops on Christmas
Christmas came and went. We ate deep-fried greasy everything and saw just how far we could sink into our respective couches. We stared or didn’t stare at the TV. At dinner we sat around the table fact-checking each other’s know-it-all claims about something or other, each refusing to give in because we were all equally…
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Angela Chase Is My Homie
I’m always in my head. Whenever something big happens, I imagine Future Me reflecting on that very moment years later in full-on Angela Chase mode, narrating every furrow of the brow, out loud and angst-filled—all while I’m living it.
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Hamsters
I shared a room until I was 18. It’s a great recipe for insanity—one I plan to gift my own hypothetical offspring. After all, with all this talk about future generations growing far more entitled, information being far more accessible, and the interwebs rendering state boundaries obsolete (and thus, expanding the pool of people you…