Understatement can help us cope with disaster. But in the case of Paul McCartney, a little doesn’t always go a long way.
It’s time once again for our annual Halloween ritual, where we dust off a classic urban legend and reanimate it with a few new endings.
The Bard’s most famous sonnet very nearly wasn’t a Shakespearean sonnet. Rejected pairings of content and form, from rondelet to an acrostic hiding his name.
The Jazz Age blasts into orbit, adding oxygen parties and mighty pincers to the rise-and-fall decadence of the intergalactic one percent.
Only the truly trained can accurately describe how despair sounds without a noise filter. A sound technician finishes his horror movie script.
Stranded on a desert island, a panel of self-help authors must rely on their wits and catchphrases to survive.
Even a fake history of blogging—going back to the Old Internet, when HTML templates were so raw—offers insight into how we reached today’s web and survived comments.
When celebrities are candid, they tend to go all out. Reddit’s “Ask Me Anything” interviews—edited for the seven deadly sins—provide an Idolatry of Self so big, it produces Zen koans.
Here comes summer, when the yoke of responsibility loosens. We all have our past indiscretions, but they’re too sordid to sign our names to—so we’ve changed the names and rearranged the text to protect the guilty.
Even cable series must adapt to survive. Possible spinoffs of Naked and Afraid explore charted territory.
The Heartbleed Bug exposed a well-known secret: Passwords suck. But that’s really nothing new—just ask the Romans. Explaining the password’s past and future.
A man and a supreme being walk into a bar. It’s a hokey joke until one day it’s true and the big man starts offering tax advice.