Were you aware that Shel Silverstein, gatekeeper of your childhood poetry, also used to be a cartoonist for Playboy and had a knack for dirty limericks? Put down your copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends and venture with me.
What the proprietor of Critique My Dick Pic learned after a years-worth of artfully gazing at shlongs.
Grantland explains why the highest caliber of American auteurs — the Coens, namely — would never, ever make a sequel, even to their most beloved and successful films like The Big Lebowski. Sequels rarely come with creative satisfaction.
This bizarre vintage photoshoot by John K depicts naked women sitting on a host of random objects.
Ever wonder how the mermaid creeped out of the blood bath that was a Hans Christian Andersen fairytale and onto the side of your green-and-white cappucino? Here’s a fantastically strange history of the mermaid.
In case that seven-layer dip runs cold, FiveThirtyEight has mapped out the median arrival time of guests at parties. The results show that people are universally rude and better be wearing a really great outfit.
It’s one of those “this sounds incredibly dumb” videos making the viral rounds, but the sound of stones skipping over a frozen lake is just as delightful and gratifying as your imagination could have it be. Skip to 3:40: