Thought Catalog

When you spend more than 10 years trying to figure out why something as small as the sound of a balloon popping can fully trigger your fight-or-flight response, you get pretty well-acquainted with all the dark corners of your mind.

New from Red Stripe UK — Make With A Red Stripe, an initiative in collaboration with Noisey to feature the true creators behind Europe’s biggest annual cultural gathering — The Notting Hill Carnival.

Grab some strawberries and kiwi and grapefruit and raspberries and make a delicious, quirky fruit salad. Enjoy the bursting juices on your tongue.

Food is usually not essential for a party that’s populated by twentysomethings. After all, who do we look like? Our parents? Someone with any extra money? But for an outdoor summer party, it’s crucial to provide your guests with some sustenance. Go the Portlandia route and tell people it’s a potluck.

Stuff like this makes us feel like The Jetsons isn’t too farfetched.

Dewar’s and #UNRAVEL are joining forces to create a marvelous combination of storytelling, music, and scotch malt whisky.

We went to Warped Tour New Jersey last Friday to meet with the kids, music lovers, musicians, and staff that make the tour possible. We asked each of them: “What’s the best thing about the Warped Tour?”

Gentlemen: Are you tired of man-babies and bros cramping your style? Want to prove to the world that there are still a few of you out there, changing the game?

That night, a bomb went off in downtown Atlanta. We awoke to full-coverage on the news. Over one hundred injured, at least 2 dead.

Hello London. Our friends across the Atlantic, O2, have recently informed us that if you’re in need of a new pair of headphones, you should buy some from them and have 50 Cent sign them for you at the London 02 store!

Here’s the concept. Select a 12-man roster, choosing only from players who’ve competed in Olympic basketball for Team USA, since 1992.

Scotty is a junior at Tiny Town University where he majors in acting like he knows anything about the NBA. He greets you loudly at the back bar with a drawn out “Giiiiiiiirrrrrrl!!!!” as he adjusts the side tilt of his wide-brimmed Bulls hat.

You’d essentially have to have lived under some enormous, wifi-less rock for the last four or five years to not know who Phelps is, but just in case you are really that uninformed about the pinnacle of human achievement and physical prowess that is the Olympic Games, let me inform you.

Ayn Rand looked on fondly as the mighty hockey stick of capitalism bore down on the Soviet players, crushing their fur hat hopes and beet soup dreams as they cried tears of pure vodka. It was there that Ronald Reagan was born.

“Don’t you remember,” said my mother, “don’t you remember what Daddy does? That woman was in a concentration camp. And Daddy works with a motor company to find out what kinds of people put her there, and people who were in our family, too. What Daddy’s doing is very important.”

My mother told us not to touch the fishhooks at the very lip of the riverbank, right where the land met the water, as cloudy as a cataracted eye. I promised, in my solemn eleven-year-old way, that no, we would not go anywhere near them and yes, we would keep our shoes on.

And now, with a new name and the false, clean sense of erased history, he takes a train and joins his cousin in Georgia, where an untangled root of his family strain found soil before. He finds himself in Savannah (or possibly Marietta, or Bainbridge, where he will one day be forgotten in the amalgam of the family burial plot, a plot he will buy himself) and begins his tenure at his cousin’s Laundromat.

The kiss was not well-executed. Our foreheads were interlocked, attempting to preclude the act. She was rubbing my temples, my shoulders, relaxing the malaise out of my muscles, working to my bone marrow. Why did I let her touch me, was I aroused by illogic? No. I wanted to be transcendent, cerebral. I wanted to be a poem.