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Twitter wants Captain America to get a boyfriend, but is regular America ready?

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On the heels of #GiveElsaAGirlfriend, a fan campaign for Elsa to come out of the closet, Twitter is calling for Captain America and Bucky (or Iron Man!) to make it official. People are jumping on the hashtag not only because an LGBTQ character would be huge for representation in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but because it only seems natural after THREE WHOLE MOVIES about their relationship, filled with long, wistful glances.

A love as strong as vibranium.

People weren't so keen on Cap's kiss with Sharon in Civil War, mostly because it creepily happened right after the funeral of Peggy Carter. Peggy, as in the woman he once loved, who just so happens to be Sharon's aunt.

People are tweeting out their 'ships with some titillating GIFs.

We'll have to wait until part one of Avengers: Infinity War *comes out* in 2018 to see if Cap does too. 


Not even Samantha Bee was ready for the bizarre origins of the pro-life movement.

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Samantha Bee's views on abortion and the religious right shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows about her. But not even Full Frontal was ready for the crazy, art cinema-inspired origins of the pro-life movement following the landmark Roe v. Wade decision that legalized abortion in 1973.

Given the intimidation and violence that has pervaded the pro-life movement, it's pretty disheartening to see that the issue was casually brought to the forefront of politics solely as a way to mobilize conservative Christians for the benefit of leaders like Reverend Jerry Falwell, a man offended by the sexuality of Teletubbies.

Admittedly, their scare tactics would make for a great arthouse horror film.

When this is what you use to get people on your side of an issue, you should drop the cause and go to film school instead.

These PSAs deserve an A for artistic flourish, but an F in terms of making any sense.

Incredibly drunk man is wonderfully courteous to his own reflection in a mirror.

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On Tuesday, a redditor posted a delightful gif of a very drunk man who didn't let his inebriated state get in the way of his courteous nature. That gif came from this very recent video, which seems to be from a Russian supermarket. Unfortunately, the person this sauced man is trying so valiantly to be courteous to is just his own reflection in the mirror.

This poor man is so drunk that he thinks he's standing in front of another man who also happens to be buying eggs. Every time he gestures politely for the other guy to walk ahead of him, that other man simply gestures back for him to go. And every time he starts to walk, so does the other guy.

This awkward drunken dance of good manners continues FOREVER, until the man filming finally walks up to him and tells him he's standing in front of a mirror. Psssht. No big deal. HE TOTALLY KNEW THAT. He just thinks it's important to respect yourself. A lot.

Article 90

Salma Hayek and Susan Sarandon gazed deeply into each other's boobs at Cannes.

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BBFs (big-breasted friends) Salma Hayek and Susan Sarandon attended the "Women In Motion" Prize reception in Cannes on May 15, along with some of their greatest accessories: their boobs. Way too long after the two stars appeared in their equally boob-tastic dresses, Hayek posted a picture to Instagram of the two comparing racks. 

Salma: "Susan, you are bigger than me!" Susan Sarandon: "Of course I am..." #cannes #friends #susansarandon

A photo posted by Salma Hayek Pinault (@salmahayek) on

From left to right, those breasts are 49, 49, 69, and 69 years old. They've aged well.

Susan Sarandon has done an excellent job of late at dressing her breasts.

Hayek has always thrived in that department.

Hayek and Sarandon's pic brings back memories of this gem from Modern Family.

~jealousy~

Which was a re-creation of this classic breast envy shot, served up by Sophia Loren and Jayne Mansfield.

The definition of side eye.

Which was in turn a recreation of every woman's thoughts towards Jayne Mansfield's boobs. 

Article 88

Dad's raw, beautiful post about wife trying to get pregnant delivers every single emotion.

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Dan Majesky recently recounted the long journey of his wife Leah trying to get pregnant with a wonderful Facebook post. It is a story that's difficult to share, but it's an important one that reminds thoughtless people that you should never ask a couple when they're going to have children. Dan's story is raw, honest and—at times—hilarious. The Majeskys' attempt to have a baby seems to capture every gritty feeling and emotion of the human experience. It's a rollercoaster, and it's worth the ride. (Read the full text below)

Do you have a minute? I’ve got kind of a long story.

Leah and I have been trying to get pregnant for over 3 years. I’m not sure when, exactly, we stopped the birth control. Like all our plans, we didn’t start with a plan, but instead decided that if we got pregnant, that would be great.

And then we didn’t get pregnant.

I mean, look, when you’re in your twenties, it feels like you can’t look at someone else without getting pregnant. We’ve all heard about someone who got pregnant through 2 condoms, spermicidal lubricant, and an IUD. Right? But we didn’t get pregnant. No big deal.

Leah and Dan Majesky.

We’re in our 30s. Things are probably a little bit dusty, and a little bit rusty. So, three years ago, we started using apps and calendars to track this and that. Ovulation test sticks. Old wives’ tales of positions and timing. We got some late periods. And some periods that never came!

But we didn’t get pregnant.

So, off to the doctor we went. His and hers appointments for collections of blood and semen and measuring parts and such. Medical science being what it is, we got the answer to all our problems: “You’re fine, and there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Do doctors ever tell anybody, “This is what is wrong, and this is how to fix it,” and then give them pills, and they’re fine? This is not my experience. My experience is: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We didn’t get pregnant.

So then came the hormones for Leah. Along with those hormones came the realization that little-to-none of this would be covered by insurance, and that the coverage rate would go down as we went deeper into the process. See, insurance companies look at getting pregnant a lot like getting sick. Why, they can’t imagine, would you try to get sick? Well, fuck you, insurance companies. That’s why.

But we didn’t get pregnant.

So maybe we’re bad at timing, or something, or god knows. Usually that’s fine, but we are in our late 30s, and clocks are ticking. The doctor told us that certain hormone levels were low, lower than they should have been, and that meant our egg supply was dwindling.

Let me tell you something. There is nothing you can tell a woman that will make her feel more young, beautiful and vibrant than, “You have a dwindling egg supply, and it is time to pick up the pace.” You should try it. Maybe at a bar.

And that was when we began IUI, intrauterine insemination. IUI is – colloquially – the turkey baster method. When they told us about it, I tried to really hear what the doctor was saying, but all I could hear echoing around the room, off of the oyster-y pearlescent floors and the alien-vagina wallpaper, was “dwindling.”

For Leah, we eventually figured out, this meant a regimen of hormone boosters to facilitate egg production. Are you aware of what happens to people when their hormones go out of the norm? They are not happy. Unless they are happy, in which case, they are very happy. There is no mild. There is no average day. Her job was to feel like her brain and soul were on fire.

My job was to try and not say anything dumb, because she also needed to be calm. I tried to avoid triggering phrases like “Hey,” or “Good morning,” or “I love you,” but I kept fucking up, and opening my mouth, or allowing Leah to see TV programs, or commercials, to read books, and interact with the world in any way.

The best was when someone would ask her when we were going to have kids. That was just the best.

Then, after one or two ultrasounds to make sure eggs were there, and in their right places on their little follicles, I would give my needle-phobic wife a shot in her thigh to set ovulation in process. She says she’s not so much afraid of needles as she is afraid of being stuck by me with a needle, but same difference, right?

Over time, I developed a method where she would look away, close her eyes and cry, while crushing all the bones in my left hand, and I would count to three, and inject her with my right. I wouldn’t inject her on three. I tried to pick a random time. She usually didn’t even feel it.

After all that romance, you would think that abstaining from sex for a few days would be hard, but you would be wrong. You might also think we should be having massive amounts of sex, but it turns out that you have to let your seminal stash build up for a few days before collection.

Over the last couple years, I became pretty professional about my sperm deposits. My first one was a few paragraphs up, for testing. Man, is it ever weird. You can do it at home if you want, but then you are under a clock to get your sample to the lab on time. I don’t need that kind of stress.

I don’t talk about it much, but I like to think I’m pretty good at taking care of business in the art of sperm production, but I had never entered a room designed specifically for masturbation, while people waited outside, hoping my masturbation went okay. Perhaps that is what Eddie Murphy’s life was like in Coming to America, but I was less familiar with it.

The room was like a combination of a hotel room and an office. It had a big picture of The Ohio State University football stadium, filled with fans, on the wall over a small vinyl sofa. There was a neatly folded sheet, fresh and crisp, hanging on the far armrest. A clock radio on the side table, tuned to local political talk radio, sputtering away beneath a low-lit lamp, was paired with a little wooden cube that had one tiny drawer, specifically made for storing your collection cup.

Under the table were four or five magazines that I didn’t really want to touch. Usually two Playboys, a Penthouse, and a Swimsuit Issue. Across from the couch was a TV/DVD combo with a DVD preloaded. I didn’t want to touch the remote either, really. It sat on a wicker chest.

Wicker struck me as the worst possible material for a room designed for male masturbation. Everybody’s aiming for the cup, I know, but I also know there have been enough accidents in that office that it required a laminated sign about what to do in case of an accident.

The first step, in case of an accident, is to not try to hide it by scraping your mess into the cup. Big no-no. This makes your sample corrupt, which may mean that your partner could end up being impregnated by carpet fibers if I understand correctly, but it is also unsanitary.

The second step is to tell the front desk staff that you had an accident, which seems horrific. The people who work at the lab are people who, by my calculations, deal with upwards of 80 men per day who have just masturbated, or are about to, and their sperm. Sure. They are professional.

But, still, everyone is a little bit tittery, a little bit anxious. We all know that this is all very silly, and that I just touched my penis, and you are someone’s grandmother, and that even though you have a pin in the shape of a little sperm fella to help break the tension, we all – if we really had the choice – would probably prefer to burst into flames than discuss any part of this, let alone the fact that someone missed. Whoops!

The DVD would change over time, but still be of the same variety. Usually some kind of early 90s Eurotrash boat fantasies, or oily faux-lesbian scissorhands scenes, starring fingernails that made me very nervous. I would check every time I went in, and it was always awful. Everybody’s got their thing, I guess. My thing is that I am thankful for the Internet.

Oh. And you are supposed to go in dry if you can help it. Lubrication, as it turns out, can mess with the quality of the semen, which seems like a pretty big jerk move on the part of lubrication.

But, yeah, I’ve got my routine down.

When your sample has been washed and spun, or whatever it is they do with it, they put it in a paper bag that you carry over to the doctor’s office for the procedure. We long-timers can always tell the new couples. Their discomfort and optimism is cute. They smile and look around on their walk, hoping no one notices the bag they have pinched in their fingertips.

Me, I carry my paper bag like a sack lunch. The same turkey sandwich I’ve had every day for years. With hope, yes, but the skepticism of routine.

The IUI itself is pretty quick, and from what I understand, painless, if not the normal amount of demeaning of going to an OB/GYN. You get one more ultrasound to make sure everything is in place, and then they pour the gravy all over the giblets.

Sorry. I know. I’m hung up on turkey metaphors.

And then we wait.

You’re warned against taking pregnancy tests because they measure hormone levels, and after taking all sorts of weird shit all month, you can trigger a false positive. So you wait. And there will be spotting. Is it spotting, or is her period starting? You don’t know. So you wait. And you wait.

And you wait.

And sometimes her period comes, and you start over. Step one.

And sometimes it doesn’t come. But the second line doesn’t appear, or the plus, or the whatever these tests do.

So you wait. And it’s negative, but you hope, and you see your friends getting pregnant, and you get a little sad. But you get mad at yourself because you want to feel happy for other people, and that’s not fair to them. And then the 17-year-old across the street gets pregnant, and you get a little sadder. And your cousins get pregnant, and you get a little sadder.

And you see people scream at their kids, and beat them in Kroger, and you just want to die because you would give anything to have a child throwing a tantrum in the cereal aisle.

You don’t want to hate people. You don’t. I think babies are beautiful. I think kids are awesome, but you can’t help the jealousy. The envy. The resentment. It really creeps up on you. And you search for positive things. And you talk on end about your capital-O Options.

And then you see people on the internet post screeds about how dare anyone assume that they would want to have kids because not having kids is the best – which is fine, have at it or don’t have at it, I really don’t care – but we want to be procreating, and we want what you could have, but are choosing not to use.

And we want to tell you, but people don’t talk about it. Because you don’t want to talk about it.

Because you spend all day thinking about it, managing it. Trying not to cry. Trying to not turn into HI and Ed from Raising Arizona, stealing babies in the night.

And the doctors start talking about Next Steps, and the Next Steps are very expensive, so you try it one more time.

And then, while you’re in Kansas on a road trip with a friend, your wife does the IUI with a frozen deposit you left behind.

And you get pregnant.

You go in for a blood test, two weeks later, and they tell you that you’re pregnant. And you cry. Big fat tears of relief.

And then you freak out because, to be honest, you talked yourself out of real hope months and months ago, but now you have to get ready for a baby.

Some weeks later, you go in for an ultrasound, and there it is. I mean, yeah, it’s a tadpole with a giant head. There’s its brain, and there’s its heart fluttering away, and it’s so real.

And you relax.

We’re in our late thirties, which means that the chances are higher than average that a pregnancy won’t be viable, or there will be a chromosomal abnormality, or something along those lines. We spent a lot of time tiptoeing around that idea, but we talked about it. And about not getting too excited. You know, the higher you let your hopes up, the further they have to fall.

But they told us to relax. Everything looked great and we were on track, so when we went in for one final scan before being released to our obstetrician a couple weeks later, we were all smiles and jokes.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t find the heartbeat.”

And then you’re not pregnant.

I’ve felt time stop before. Car accidents, falling off a fence, a mountain bike jump gone wrong. I have not felt the vertigo of infinity like when we were told our baby was dead.

I’m logical. I understand science and biology. I know it was a fetus, not a baby. But it was my baby. In my head, in my heart, I could already imagine being old as it grew into an adult and had its own children, and – woosh – it was all gone.

As I write this, the due date is a little over a week away, like a car accident on the road ahead that you’re trying not to look at, that you have to drive by.

The world isn’t going to stop. We all get up and go to work. Because it happens. People lose babies all the time.

Miscarriage.

But no one talks about it. No one gets on Facebook and tells their friends. It’s specifically why you wait to tell anyone.

But then you have no one to tell. When a family member dies, you can share your grief. With a miscarriage, you would have to tell people that someone who will never be born, who they had never heard of and will never meet, but who meant the world to you, is gone. And you don’t have the strength to get into it. You tell your parents, maybe a close friend, maybe your boss.

I was so stunned when it happened that I texted my boss that I wouldn’t be back that day, but that I’d be back the next, which really cracks me up now. I didn’t even get how I was about to be affected.

Leah was scheduled for a D&C, dilation and curettage, under general anesthesia at Christ Hospital right away, so she wouldn’t have to go through the trauma of slowly passing the fetal tissue over the course of a week. It wasn’t until they took her back that I let myself break down. Alone with my worst thoughts and the sour coffee of the waiting room for several hours. God, I have no idea how long. One more forever.

The people at the hospital were excellent. We got a lot of information about support groups that we never went to, but we should have. We just wanted to hide.

I’m thankful for our families and our friends, who came to sit with us. Who brought Lea the things she needed, and let me get out of the house to walk around the neighborhood. I must have looked like a zombie.

It’s very difficult to think about, even now. I don’t think I’m doing a good job of describing it. I don’t want to dwell on it. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t think it was until around the New Year that I went a day without crying about it.

But, you know, you pass the car accident and it’s in the rear view, getting further away, and sometimes you don’t even see it anymore. Maybe you’ve told yourself enough times that “at least we know we can get pregnant” and “this just means that something was wrong and it’s a good thing.” Maybe you even believe it.

Just to let you know how strong Leah is, she still made the Dean’s List that semester, and she was carrying 18 credit hours. I dropped out of college for the dumbest reasons in my time - once because I got mugged - but she persevered. Like Britney, bitch.

We started back at the fertility process too soon, in a dumb burst of optimism and courage, and the desire to move forward. The hormone treatments were too much for Leah. And the lack of success was too much for the both of us. So we stopped. Our doctor told me, privately, that we need to take care of ourselves, but that, if we want to have a baby, we either need to move forward now, or start discussing Next Steps.

Remember: Dwindling.

We tried a couple more times, one of which felt good – we thought we had it – and were told that if this one doesn’t take, that we would need to increase hormone treatments substantially and begin planning for options outside of IUI. In Vitro, surrogacy, or something else.

The doctor also told us, during one IUI, that while Donald Trump scares him, his wife loves Trump because of the Mexican wall thing. They are both immigrants. His problem with the wall was that it would be impossible to pay for it. I don’t know. Doctors tell you some crazy shit while they’re inseminating your wife.

Through this process, and through both of our lives, neither of us have ever had a home pregnancy test come out positive. Even when we were pregnant before, it was the doctor who did a test. This last one, Leah couldn’t bear to look at it herself, so I looked at it while she was in the shower, and told her no, that it was negative.

While she stood there, crying, I googled “pregnancy test faint line.” As it turns out, even the faintest fucking line in the whole fucking world means you’re pregnant. So we’re pregnant.

We’re pregnant.

Not that we believed it at first, but we are. Three scans later, I’ve even heard the heartbeat, like a hummingbird, and it’s beautiful.

As I write this, tomorrow is our first obstetrician appointment, and we’re so nervous. So, so nervous. I wouldn’t dare to post this until we’re in the clear enough, and ready to tell people. Almost no one knows right now. We’re worried to jinx it, us, we, who don’t believe in jinxes. Mostly, we’re afraid of going back through the pain. To have to retract it, publicly, is too much to think about.

I know plenty of people have gone through more than us. We are comparatively very lucky. Some people have never gotten pregnant. Some people could not go as far as us. Some people have taken many Next Steps beyond where we were. Some have been successful, but many haven’t. I hesitate to share this because I don’t want anyone to read this and feel what we felt, watching others’ dreams come true.

The Majesky sonogram.

Some people have found out, or have guessed, and have been very kind to share their own stories with us, and it has helped tremendously to not feel alone. Many thanks to all of them. I hope that maybe this helps someone else feel less alone.

And I hope that everything goes well, and I can inundate you with pictures, starting in November.

Everything went well. Arms and legs and moving around. We’re very excited, but I’ll be holding my breath for 26ish weeks.

And it’s a girl. Not that gender matters! But we’re going to have a little girl! And I am stoked. We are stoked.

We are pregnant.

That was some journey, huh? Every emotion ever. 

Angry man demands Muslim women leave ice cream store and 'his' country. He got zero ice cream.

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When three Muslim women were harassed by a racist troll at Andrew's Ice Cream in Orange, CA, they laughed, yelled back, and finished their ice cream while taping the encounter on their phones. While these women completely kept their cool, the hateful fella continued to have a meltdown and looked like a complete drip (ice cream jokes y'all).

He also forgot something that everyone learned as a kid: if you're mean to others, you don't get ice cream. The women said they didn't really pay attention to him until he became so agitated with the store for serving them (he also makes clear that they're not welcome in his country) that an employee had to escort him out, at which point they began filming him:

Two of the women, 21-year-old Malaak Ammari and 21-year-old Nura, gave the complete scoop on their experience to Mic:

We're just three Muslim girls. We didn't know what to do, we didn't want to add more gas to the fire. It was already bad enough.

Well, they knew enough to hilariously say "sucks for you" when he was escorted from the store by an employee. Regrettably, he responded "Sucks for me? You'll see what happens." Still, he got no ice cream. So it sucks for him.

Ammari and Nura have even kept the fight alive by casually brushing off online trolls, which are an endemic species:

The girls looked so good in the video that some fans would now like a makeup tutorial from them:

They should celebrate their victory by going out for some ice cream. Hopefully, this time they can enjoy it in peace.


24 tweets about graduation that are funny enough to make you forget about your crippling debt.

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Whether you attended kindergarten or medical school, congratulations on finally reaching that magical time of the year: graduation season! It's when families and friends come together to honor students' accomplishment in the accumulation of knowledge and debt. Celebrate your accomplishment with these 24 funny tweets about the lighter side of graduating.

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Hermione Granger singing her own rendition of Beyoncé's 'Hold Up' is straight magic.

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Dominque Taylor, the Huffington Post reported, birthed a musical parody for her YouTube channel The Storyscape that brings together the greatest cultural offerings from the past 20 years: Harry Potter and Beyoncé. Singing from the perspective of Hermione Granger, Taylor shared some feelings about Ron Weasley, all to the tune of Beyoncé's "Hold Up."

All these years the stars have been slowly aligning to bring us this moment and lyrics like, "So you better watch yourself, before you join Headless Nick." Also, the Victor Krum reference was a solid jab.

These lyrics would be surprisingly good coming from anyone else, but from Ms. Granger, the best is always expected.

In a way,  Hermione is the Beyoncé of the wizarding world.

Like Beyoncé, Hermione is a beautiful genius who marries someone beneath her. Too harsh? Eh. 

Son pulls a classic prank on his dad, shares his hilarious, foul-mouthed rage with the Internet.

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Wow, curse words sounds really cool with an Australian accent.

The YouTube channel "Angry Dad" is run by two brothers from Melbourne, Australia who film themselves giving their easy-to-anger old man a hard time. One would think that this dad would catch on to their antics, given that they have a whole YouTube channel filled with videos of his rage, but it seems his temper still gets the better of him. After his son puts a "honk if you're horny" sign on the back of his father's Jeep, this father fully loses his mind when he can't figure out why the other cars are beeping at him, all while R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" plays softly in the background, somehow making this whole thing even funnier.

First he gets angry at the beeping. Then at the people "looking at him funny." Then at the people flashing their lights at him. Then at the sign. Then at the son. Maybe this dad will finally learn that his kids are terrible and that he shouldn't have an outburst unless he wants it broadcast on YouTube. Maybe then he can focus on teaching his son the difference between "your" and "you're" so he doesn't screw it up the next time he writes it on a sign that will be seen by hundreds of thousands of people. Come on, you noticed that too. 

Glee's Amber Riley took to Instagram to ask body shamers some important questions.

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On May 20, Amber Riley, feeling the effects of some post-dental work painkillers, posted a video to Instagram, talking about stuff that her "sober mind" wouldn't normally allow her to say. The 30-year-old actor—best known for playing diva Mercedes Jones on Gleehad some things she wanted to get off her chest. And, as her caption says, her thighs and stomach, too.

I got some things I need to get off my chest, and my thighs, and my stomach 🙄

A video posted by Amber Riley (@msamberpriley) on

Riley asks why people have such a problem with her being fat—is it because she's confident, fly, and sexy? (Yes, and also because some people are judgmental, petty, insecure and ignorant.)

Whatever the reason for online trolls talking about her body, Riley wants any would-be body shamers to know that being called fat is not an insult. "My ass is fat. And the fellas love it. And so do I. So eat it."

Riley's fans also love her ass, and let her know as much in the comments on the post.

So take that, body shamers of Instagram, and for the love of god, just let Amber Riley's ass live.

27 times people were mistaken for celebrities and just went with it.

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These pictures, taken from the subReddit r/Not Really Famous, feature people being mistaken for celebrities, who kindly agree to pose for pictures with hapless idiots who think they're being photographed with a celebrity. The last few actually are celebrities, but not the ones the people think they are. Fame is weird like that.

1. Not Lorde

"Hey! CURLY HAIR! IT'S DEFINITELY HER!"

2. Not Bono

Not Bono, but his sunglasses are pretty douchey, so…honest mistake.

3. Not Jay Z

Got some news for you, buddy…

4. Not Kit Harington

Clearly these ladies are not true Game of Thrones fans.

5. Not Bret Michaels

All guys with long hair and bandanas are Rocks of Love to drunk girls.

6. Not Amber Rose

So close. And yet, no.

7. Not Questlove

Disproving the common theory that all black people with afros are Questlove.

8. Not Andy Samberg

Really giving it the ol' college try.

9. Not Usher

Common mistake. No, that's not Common either.

10. Also not Usher

Usher? Uh...sure.

11. Not Bruno Mars

Downtown Funk.

12. Still not Bruno Mars

 "Wow, check out this drunk guy who thinks I'm Bruno Mars."

13. Not Rod Stewart

Some guys have all the luck.

14. Again, not Rod Stewart

Might be time to let the night conclude instead.

15. Not Taylor Swift

The main reason he doesn't know it is it's not her.

16. Not Zach Galifianakis

More like Zach GalifiaNOkis.

17. SO not Zach Galifianakis

Weird how every guy with a beard is not Zach Galifianakis.

18. Not Sean Penn

The tip off is he's meeting him in the kitchen of a shitty house party.

19. Not Marilyn Manson

Marilyn Manson would never smile. Dummy.

20. Not Seth Rogen

Not even a little. Not even the tiniest bit.

21. Not Will Ferrell

Hey, can't blame a gal for dreaming.

22. Not Hugh Jackman

OH MY GOD WOLVERINE oh wait no. The claw hand is so convincing, though.

23. Not Johnny Depp

He's very thankful for the hotdog, though.

24. Not George Clooney

He's somewhat…Clooney-esque.

25. Not Matt Damon

The good news is: he's famous. The bad news: he's not who she thinks he is.

26. Not Criss Angel

Why does Dave Navarro hate magic so much?

27. Not Chris Rock

These are the moments that keep me Humble 😂😂😂😂😂..... #RockTheWorld #AllYouCanDoIsLaugh

A video posted by Kevin Hart (@kevinhart4real) on

Caitlyn Jenner checks her privilege with high school kids who don't like her.

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Caitlyn Jenner has many critics for many reasons. She is criticized by Republicans for being transgender, and by liberals for defending Republicans on I Am Cait and speaking against things like welfare and social programs that a lot of the trans community depends on. She angered the gay and transgender community with her tepid support of gay marriage, and by saying that trans women should work hard "not to look like a man in a dress." 

Her gender presentation has transitioned, but not her political views.

Jenner surprised a group trans and non-gender-binary students at a progressive high school in Brooklyn, who view her as "privileged, and not using her privilege to advocate for anyone other than herself." She couldn't help but get a bit defensive, but by sitting and talking, the conversation managed to change some minds. 

Model Tobias Sorensen bench presses Sports Illustrated model and girlfriend Jasmine Tookes in advertisement for their bodily perfection.

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Jasmine Tookes and Tobias Sorensen are two names you might not recognize, but you've probably seen them in print ads and commercials, so here are their half-naked bodies to jog your memory.

Such a good day💜 @daniellepriano @cgonzalezbeauty @jtavdav @jeromeo1 @simsdenice @victoriassecret

A photo posted by Jasmine Tookes (@jastookes) on

@calvinklein 📷 by: @mikaeljansson

A photo posted by Tobias Sorensen (@thesorensen) on

The professional models were working out (and looking mysteriously not-disgusting while doing so) when Sorensen​ decided to ditch the weights in favor of his very own Victoria's Secret Angel. Sorensen was able to knock out eight reps before unceremoniously dropping Tookes.

Bench Pressin' with @thesorensen #CouplesWorkout 💪🏾 @dogpound_nyc @kirkmyersfitness

A video posted by Jasmine Tookes (@jastookes) on

A few days prior, Sorenson was the one aiding Tookes in the task of sculpting her muscles.

Before you criticize her form, please acknowledge the very long femurs Tookes has to sport around. They're a curse when it comes to squats.


Man with way too much free time applies Snapchat filters to ad photos in real life.

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Snapchat is no longer just for an entire college to watch a love story unfold or even for Game of Thrones recaps—now it's invading the real world, thanks to creative and possibly bored pranksters like Mikey Grand. Grand got the bright idea to use Snapchat in combination with an old-fashioned* Kodak photo printer at a drugstore to apply Snapchat filters to pictures in the real world.

If you don't know what a Snapchat filter is, grandma, it's basically like a funhouse mirror that warps your picture in real time. There are a bunch of different ones, and you use them to take silly photos. It's not really the pinnacle of modern technology, but the kids like it, dangit, and Mikey Grand (snapchat: mikeygrand) brought that magic to mundane ads all around this drugstore.

*Y'know, old-fashioned like the 2000s. The turn of the Millennium. The Aughts. 

Elephant succumbs to handler's lullaby like sleepy child filled to brim with warm milk.

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Elephants, being highly intelligent animals, appreciate the value of a good lullaby, as made evident by an Asian tusker named Faamai who lives at the Elephant Nature Park in Thailand. Lek, Faamai's caretaker, sends the majestic pachyderm into a peaceful rest with some gentle brushes and tranquilizing bedtime croons. The quality of this elephant's nap-time will make you want to chug some warm milk and catch some z's yourself.

Faamai is supported by the Save Elephant Foundation, a Thai non-profit rescue sanctuary that makes sure elephants are living in the best conditions possible for a good nap. If you donate enough to their cause, you may be able to get Lek to sing you to sleep on a patch of dirt too.

No McMuffins were harmed during this hilarious sign battle between a liquor store and McDonald's.

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A sign war broke out on a corner in Somerville, Massachusetts, and the dad jokes are going viral. Sav-Mor Discount Liquors fired the first shot, jokingly claiming that they had a sweeter deal on McMuffins than Mickey D's itself.

Ronald soon shot back, establishing the punny tone.

SavMor retorted by officially declaring McDonald's their *arch* enemy.

My boss is also a clown

Thanks McDonald's

I always wanted an arch enemy

And Mickey D got real.

The liquor store then confessed why they picked the fight in the first place. 

It's like what they say in elementary school: if a liquor store is mean to you, it means they like you. And McDonald's is lovin' it. 

Paris Jackson will keep getting tattoos in her father's memory until she runs out of skin.

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Cool teen Paris Jackson has been getting tattooed pretty frequently in the past several months, just like cool teens do. Now, the 18-year-old has gotten some fresh ink to add to her collection—an intricate and beautiful piece dedicated to her late father, Michael Jackson

She uploaded the picture of her new tattoo with a quote from her father, "The meaning of life is contained in every single expression of life. It is present in the infinity of forms and phenomena that exist in all of creation." She followed it up with some words of her own, saying, "Never forget your roots, and always be proud of where you came from."

The artwork is of a part of the cover of MJ's 1991 album Dangerous. She could get the entire album art tattooed onto her, but she would probably run out of skin before it was done.

Having your dad's eyes tattooed on your body is one way to say that he is always watching over you.

This isn't the first tattoo Paris has gotten in memory of the King of Pop. She also got "Queen of my Heart" tattooed on her wrist in her father's hand writing, also done by tattoo artist Justin Lewis of Timeless Tattoo in California. 

According to Lewis's Instagram, the new tattoo is still a work-in-progress and Paris will return to add more shading. Paris was only eleven when her father passed away back in 2009, but she is definitely keeping his memory alive, at least through body art. 

University of Oregon apologizes after hundreds of Greek men and women fill lake with enormous pile of party trash.

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The only thing worse than a stampede of partying bros is a stampede of partying bros with no respect for the environment. According to The Concourse, hundreds of fraternity and sorority members from the University of Oregon recently took a trip to Slaughterhouse Island on Lake Shasta—a campsite on a California reservoir—for a weekend of unsupervised raging. They proceeded to leave behind an unbelievable amount of trash, and folks are rightly furious. Facebook user Jennifer Vick Cox uploaded photos of the site, which looks like the scene of a Keystone Light-fueled apocalypse.


Normally, pictures like this might make you assume these Oregon students are over-privileged cretins, but you don't have to assume because they went ahead and confirmed their personality type with a plastic cooler reading "DO YOU WANNA DO SOME BLOW MAN?"

A park ranger's report lists some more of the items that these wasteful Greek-life dullards left for someone else to deal with.

Crews discovered about 90 tents, some of them brand new, sleeping bags, ice chests filled with food and alcohol, personal items and a lot of trash along the lake’s edge. The island doesn’t have a restroom or garbage area — lake users typically carry their belongings in — then out of the area.

Instead, the college students (who arrived and left the campsite via 60 houseboats almost definitely rented with their parents' money) decided to let the natural process of decomposition take care of their trash over the next several hundred years.

Though the trip was not a sanctioned University of Oregon event, Robin Holmes, the school's Vice President for Student life, released a statement letting everyone know the administration is out for these kids' Pinnacle Vodka-tainted blood, and that one fraternity's national organization has already suspend their UO chapter's activities.

The manner in which the Shasta-Trinity forest area was left is disgraceful.

Trips to this area have become an annual event for fraternities and sororities all along the West Coast. It is one the University of Oregon does not sponsor or condone in any way.

The university is actively investigating the situation and will take action as appropriate. We are working with authorities to learn all we can and determine who is responsible.

One national fraternity organization, Lambda Chi Alpha, has taken the commendable step of suspending all of its UO chapter’s activities until the situation is addressed. We hope other national organizations will follow their lead.

Phyllis Swanson, a spokeswoman for the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, said three rangers spent all day Sunday collecting trash and have even found another site filled with more of the students' waste.

It's going to be days until it's cleaned up. We hope to have it done by Memorial Day.

Quit being human refuse and pick up your refuse, bros.

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