There are No Dumb Questions

There as some things that I know for certain I cannot and will not ever be able to do. I can’t tell left from right (if I didn’t pick this skill up in preschool, it’s too late for me now), I can’t write poetry (my creative writing teacher will attest), and I cannot teach. It doesn’t matter what the concept is or how simple it would be to explain; if you ask me, you’re definitely not about to learn. I’m too impatient to explain things. I hate it when people ask too many questions. To me, even one question is way too many.

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Sad Boys 1956-1958

Where, in this cruel world, can Sad Boys find justice?

Will Keanu ever find love, happiness even? Will Morrissey ever save the animals? Will Ross Geller ever get what he deserves (a slap on the head, imo)? Sad Boys, unfortunately… rather, Unfortunate Sad Boys, keep on keeping on, never worthy of a resurgence or a divergence. Even though the population of Sad Boys has no limits, it remains constant and definite. For every Sad Boy dead (metaphorically or literally), one is born. But what concerns us the most, is where will the Sad Boys go? Here, as the travel agents of the internet, we discuss the affordability of two historic Sad Boys establishments – the Heartbreak Hotel and the Home Of The Blues.

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The Extreme Obvi-ness of the Male Gender

There comes a time in every young woman’s life where she could or could not be a variety of things: a freshman, sophomore, junior, senior, or super-senior in high school OR college; a mother of three children; a lady on her way to work; a casual jogger. I would say by like age 15 you could pretend to be like… 30 and no one would notice, let alone care.

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