Stephanie Georgopulos

This insane monster is perfectly likable during business hours, but give him a few shots of tequila and he starts acting like someone slipped PCP in his Patron.

His page is flooded with inspirational quotes, uploaded in .jpeg format. I don’t feel inspired.

A cigarette used to be an invitation to strangers: come over this way, inhale with me. Now, instead, my digits dig deep in my purse for a slick black cell phone and they type meaningless messages to yet more strangers in many other rooms, jokes and quips in 140 characters or less until it’s time to go home.

Let me drop a little truth bomb on you. I’ve already lived through approximately 1,350 weekends.

I know you must get that a lot, and on good days you probably let it slide. You think, “We’re happy and that’s all that matters,” you think, “Some people are just ignorant, but that’s not our problem.”

This uh… short story is a prime example of what happens when you replace every word in the sentence with Word’s suggested synonyms.

Endured the company of terrible people without throwing my drink on them.

While we’re on the subject of clothes, can you please explain how you pull off wearing high-waisted pants and Canadian tuxedoes, ’cause I’m not getting it.

I tweeted a response to the segment, like many other humans who are tired of representatives with voting power who don’t understand the way sex and bodies work.

Even though Spotify was straight player hating this week (Five Total songs? One Aaliyah album? RLY?), I think you’ll enjoy it just the same.

I had no idea David Lynch dabbled in public service announcements.

I’m sick of looking at my shadow and thinking about my body and I’m tired of you looking at it.