Get Smarter Everyday
Everybody’s got that one joke. You know the one—the trusty line you can pull out at a party, over coffee with friends, or in a moment that desperately needs a laugh. Some are clever, some are corny, and some are just plain ridiculous, but they always seem to land. 23 people share their go-to jokes, and the answers are as funny, quirky, and unexpected as the people telling them.
When people talk about The Cure, the spotlight almost always lands on Robert Smith—his instantly recognizable voice, his dark makeup and hair, and the songs that became anthems of love and loss for millions. But behind him, from the very beginning, has been Mary Poole. She’s not a public figure, and she’s never wanted to be. Yet her steady presence has been central to Robert’s life and, in many ways, to the music that made The Cure legendary.
Linda Fiorentino’s career arc feels like a movie where someone accidentally left out the last twenty minutes. Most Hollywood narratives end with either a triumphant comeback montage or a public implosion. Hers just stops. One minute she is the razor-sharp femme fatale in The Last Seduction or the sardonic coroner in Men in Black. The next she is gone. Not dead, not disgraced, just absent. As if someone hit the mute button on her public existence.
Everyone’s fighting their own battles — some loud, some silent. 22 people to share the biggest problem they’re facing in life right now, and their answers are as raw, relatable, and eye-opening as you might expect. Let it be a reminder to be kind — you never know what someone else is carrying.
When you ask someone “what’s wrong?” it puts them in a position that doesn’t encourage conversation or doesn’t encourage honesty. It gives them an easy way to say “Nothing” or to shrug you off.
Meanwhile, asking someone “how are you feeling?” will be much more open-ended, is more welcoming, caring and much more likely to lead to an honest answer.
This is especially true in relationships when your S/O is withholding why they’re upset or the fact of whether or not they’re actually upset.
If you know Sherry Jackson at all, you probably know her as Andrea—the impossibly symmetrical android from the Star Trek episode What Are Little Girls Made Of? (1966). Andrea exists in that strange pop-culture territory where the performance is almost beside the point. The lasting memory isn’t the dialogue—it’s the blue-and-green cutout dress, the serene-yet-menacing stare, the sense that she could either follow your every command or break your neck without hesitation.
The air is cool, the kind that seeps into your bones, but it’s not the weather that makes her hold him so tightly. Her arms are wrapped around the boy in a way that’s half-embrace, half-shield — though against what’s already happened, no shield could have mattered.
Four months earlier, at precisely 8:15 a.m., the sky over Hiroshima tore open. In a fraction of a second, a flash hot enough to fuse metal and bone erased the morning as if someone had ripped the page from time itself. The blast wave flattened everything within miles. The firestorm that followed roared through what was left. And the radiation — invisible, silent — began rewriting the cells of every living thing it touched.
You know the saying: “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Turns out, that’s outdated. In the wild world of online marketplaces and freebie groups, beggars can be choosers — and they’re extremely picky about it.
We’re talking about people who ask for free furniture but demand you deliver it up three flights of stairs. People who take your generous offer and counter with, “Could you throw in a little cash, too?” It’s like watching someone win the lottery and then complain the check isn’t printed in gold ink.
Welcome to the hall of fame for over-the-top entitlement — today’s choosing beggars.
Tonie Perensky’s career was one of those quiet constants in the background of late-20th-century pop culture. You might not have known her name, but you probably remember her face—often playing someone charming, slightly dangerous, or both. She moved fluidly between genres, from cult horror to sports drama to sitcoms, building a résumé that spanned over three decades without ever fully crossing into household-name territory.
You ever notice how the people who shape the texture of your childhood nightmares and daydreams tend to vanish the fastest? Like, they’re omnipresent on your TV at age nine, and by age twelve, they’ve dematerialized into the collective pop subconscious, only resurfacing when you’re three drinks deep and wondering why you’re so weird about romance and nuclear waste.