Jessica Blankenship

For almost 20 years, no one knew what a code left by a dying woman meant. The internet figured it out in 15 minutes.

Wear footie pajamas to their cat’s funeral. Pass you a note on scented Hello Kitty paper during the service that says: “I killed him.”

When you accept something awful for long enough, you start forgetting that you should be demanding more.

Good-looking people don’t have any spine. Their art never lasts. They get the girls, but we’re smarter.

Pancakes would never tag you in an unflattering picture that they only uploaded because it’s a cute picture of them and not give a s*^t how bad you look.

Maybe we’re soul mates and the existence of my child will one day be relevant to you. Or maybe we’re just going to go to second base in the back of this cab and never speak again and you should stop overthinking things.

New study shows black men are at least as involved in the lives of their children as fathers of other races, and in many cases, much more involved.

The problem with the new motivational mantra is that the notion of comparing ourselves to Beyoncé is – what’s the word? – total horse s*%t.