But don’t worry! It’s not because he’s worried about her prostituting herself, or that she’s using Black women and little people as props in her act, or that she’s not practicing proper tongue hygiene. No, the singer-songwriter is concerned about Miley’s grammar:
I can’t stop listening to #GetItRight (great song, great message, great body), but maybe you need a quick grammar lesson. One particular line causes concern: ‘I been laying in this bed all night long.’ Miley, technically speaking, you’ve been LYING, not LAYING, an irregular verb form that should only be used when there’s an object, i.e. ‘I been laying my tired booty on this bed all night long.’ Keep reading »
Miley Cyrus opened a can of worms when she told Rolling Stone that her “Wrecking Ball” video was inspired by the Sinead O’Connor classic, “Nothing Compares 2 U.” Naturally, this inspired the outspoken singer to pen a thousand-word missive to Miley and post it on her website. In true O’Connor fashion, her open letter cuts both ways — poignant and well, a little crazy. Some excerpts after the jump. Keep reading »
Just days after 12 people were killed in the Washington Navy Yard shootings, Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz penned an open letter to his customers respectfully requesting that they no longer bring guns into their 7,000 coffee shops. The company, which had previously supported by local “open carry” laws, has reversed its stance on firearms due to a recent “open carry” rally gone awry outside of a San Antonio store and some kerfuffles between pro and anti-gun activists. Read an excerpt from Schultz’s letter after the jump. Keep reading »
Damn you! You made me love you. I’ve been consciously resisting you since the late ’90s, when your chains starting popping up everywhere, putting my favorite high school coffee shop — Seattle Espresso — out of business. At first, I hated you on principle. I was young and idealistic and my favorite movie was “Reality Bites.” Then I got older and just hated you because your coffee sucks. Sorry, Jessica. Don’t get mad. I was a barista on and off in my late teens and early twenties. I know what a shot of fresh-ground, well-pressed espresso should taste like. I’m just gonna say it, Starbucks: your espresso tastes like burnt poop. (Full disclosure: I admit to, in times of extreme caffeine deprivation or desperation, drinking Starbucks. But this is only in extreme cases or when my dad takes me there because he loves your coffee.)
My half-hearted Starbucks boycott ended this weekend when I was starving and popped into one of your stores for a snack. I was thinking I would get a Kind bar to hold me over until I found something acceptable to eat and there they were staring up at me, looking all sexy, begging to be tasted. Your salad bowls. Hearty veggie and brown rice, zesty chicken and black bean and chicken and greens caesar salad bowl. Keep reading »
Dear I’m Too Kind To Use Your Real Name,
I am writing this letter because I’m hoping I can prevent you from ever sending another unsolicited picture of your naked penis to another human being again for the rest of your life. When I clicked on an email in my inbox with the subject line “need some advice,” I wasn’t expecting to see FOUR pictures of a stranger’s penis. I get a fair number of emails from readers and sometimes they want advice (not that I’m qualified to give any), and so I had no reason to believe that your email would be so wildly inappropriate.
In your email, you asked me for advice about products to make your penis larger. You complained that it’s “quite short” and “very skinny” and that when it gets erect it only gets slightly bigger and not much thicker. And then, anonymous dick pic sender, you gave me measurements. Measurements! I mean, really?
After I picked my jaw up off the floor — I didn’t want my face to remain in Exasperated Snarl Expression for the rest of my life — my attention was drawn to perhaps the most puzzling line in your email: ” I was going to send you pictures of when I have an erection but it is quite embarrassing,” you wrote. Keep reading »
Dear Couple Sucking Face,
The first time I saw you, in Manhattan’s Union Square station, I thought maybe you were saying goodbye, for like, a long time. How else to explain the five minutes of intense, face-sucking, ass-grabbing making out you two were getting into? As you stood there, right where the station splits off between the N, R and L trains, hundreds of commuters strode by, many of them transfixed by your tongues darting in and out of each other’s mouths. I stopped and watched for a second, too, concocting a fictional back story for the strange configuration in front of me. He worked in finance, and was heading down to Wall Street to trade some futures or something. She’d been visiting from out of town, flying back to her home in Minneapolis, to a soul-sucking job as an insurance adjuster. This makeout session was the culmination of five days of total bliss, sealed with promises to return as soon as possible.
But oh, I was so wrong about you two. Keep reading »