You’ve found your pillow partner. Your forever friend. The person you want to share a Hyundai with for the rest of your life. Why not make the ceremony that joins you in an unbreakable flesh bond somewhat memorable and good?
The other day, I thought the unthinkable.
D’Angelo’s “Untitled” is on BET, your forehead pressed against the screen trying to look down, praying there’s a few more inches of TV. you don’t know what drives you to press your skin to the screen filled with his skin but you let yourself be driven, be hungry, be whatever this is when no one is around. you don’t know what a faggot is but you know a faggot would probably be doing this. you don’t know what a faggot is but you know you might be one. You don’t know what you are but you know you shouldn’t be. but you know that when D’Angelo sings how he sings looking how he looks, inside you something breaks open & then that odd flood of yes, a storm you can’t call a storm but the wind sounds like your name.
According to Mitt Romney’s decisively grim Twitter bio, he is simply “Former Governor of Massachusetts”—no more, no less. But it’s time to stop dwelling on the past. Because today, Mitt Romney has found love in former World Champion boxer Evander Holyfield—and that love is the sweetest victory of all.
I’ve started this letter five times and deleted it five times. Even though we’ve never met I’ve known you all my life. I learned you existed from a letter addressed to someone else. A few months ago, my mom told me you wanted to meet me along with my wife and son. I was surprised. I hear we have some things in common. You love Laphraoig and, like me, tend to overindulge in it. You are slow to recant an opinion. You’re an avid reader of political books, although I imagine our choices here likely differ. But I struggle to understand what meeting you would accomplish. In an earlier draft of this letter, I wrote that I forgave you. But I realized that I was writing what people want to hear in instances like this, not what I actually feel. How do you forgive a forty-year absence?
In a misguided ode to a girlfriend, Kirk Soccorso tattooed his beloved's name on the inside of his lower lip. Her name is Isis. They have since broken up. When he showed the tattoo to his co-workers at a Long Island Home Depot discussing the extremist militant group beheading people in Syria, he was reportedly fired.
We’re celebrating the Fourth of July at my cousin’s McMansion in Lake Mary, Florida, a short stroll across a golf course to the Sanford line. I’m surrounded by kinfolk I haven’t seen since the last funeral. We’re sipping sweet wine, Baileys, and beer. We’re telling the stories we always tell, and stories I’ve never heard.
A roaring fire was set off by a house explosion in Aravada, Colo. early this morning. When firefighters arrived at the scene, they found the message "MY WIFE IS A CHEATER" spray painted on the side of the house.
A roaring fire was set off by a house explosion in Aravada, Colo. early this morning. When firefighters arrived at the scene, they found the message "MY WIFE IS A CHEATER" spray painted on the side of the house.
New Yorkers who frequent Lower Manhattan have undoubtably seen Dan Perino's face plastered on one of his thousands of "looking for a girlfriend" fliers. Since he started posting the ads for companionship last summer, he's been flooded with phone calls—more than 8,000, he tells news.com.au. He also claims to have "hooked up" with 118 women.
Davis and I met at a book party. I was bored, aimlessly drinking. I came with an editor in the hopes of meeting other well-connected, writerly people. As I approached the cocktail table our eyes met on something vast and turbulent between us. I knew then, as if the future folded out in panels before my eyes, that this was illicit. Perhaps it was the smirk fixed to his ageless face or the puzzling sensation that we shared a secret. Before I knew it, we were shoulder to shoulder and he deftly extinguished all conversation until we stood alone in a ringing hiss of voices.
Two employees of Christchurch, New Zealand insurance company Marsh, Ltd., engaged in an affair and in the throes of passion, started having sex in their office last Friday night. They apparently thought the building's tinted windows prevented others from seeing inside their well-lit sexscape. They were wrong.
Gilberto "Cannibal Cop" Valle beat his conviction for conspiring to kidnap, rape, kill, and eat women last summer—and he's ready to get back into the dating scene. The New York Post found his apparent Match.com profile, in which the former NYPD officer seeks the loving companionship of a woman who is "non-judgmental" and "a little kinky ;)"
The relationship between John Kerry, the Secretary of State of the United States of America, and Francois Hollande, the president of France, has been on the rocks since Kerry stood up Hollande at the Je Suis Charlie rally in Paris last weekend. But in a grandly Richard-Curtisian gesture, Kerry flew to Paris today to make things right. This deeply intimate hug is their touching reunion.
