Way Harsh, Facebook

So I sent a friend request to an old pal and former co-worker, kind of against my better judgement. I'd just caught up with a mutual friend and this guy's name came up. I thought: "Hey, I kind of miss that guy. He was really cool and very nice to me." I knew he was tight with some people I don't get along with, but I figured I'd give it a shot.
He didn't reject me, but he hasn't approved, either. Which is actually just fine. I knew I was taking a chance when I sent the request and, after perusing his wall, it became apparent it might be awkward for us to be facebook friends.
Like I said, that's fine.
But facebook keeps giving me the news flash that he's adding all these other people as friends! What the hell! Why is facebook rubbing this in my face? The dude didn't accept my friendship, so why should I be getting updates on his activity in the first place? And for it to be like "Hey, dude accepted like 5 more friends today. Hmm, funny, you're not on the list!" is uncalled for.
It's a cruel game, Facebook, and it's not appreciated.

À bout de souffle

À bout de souffle by brookeistall featuring Splendid tops

Items in this set:
Vintage 60s Red & White Striped Cotton Dress, $165
Striped Layer T-shirt, $89
Striped cotton-blend tank, $55
Liquid Silk Eye Liner - 2: Midnight Metallic Blue, $30
Yellow scoop neck t-shirt, 12 GBP

Tommy WisLOL

I've been accused of having a musical taste based in irony. That my iTunes is the equivalent of a hipster's bushy handle-bar moustache.
"You don't understand," I say, clutching my Hall and Oates record. "I actually like them. I really, really like them. They make me feel happy and like I--"
"JUST AS I THOUGHT!" screams the Arbiter of Whatever, snapping the record over his knee.
The fact that I once cried listening to "What a Fool Believes" doesn't implicate your taste. It suggests that you are mature enough to have friends that are not exactly like you.
Sometimes I like songs because they make me feel good, and because they make me want to dance, and because I get this exhilarating build-up in my chest and only a fist-pump can save me from asphyxiation.

Below is one such song. Its goodness cannot be denied. You're gonna listen to it and then you're gonna listen to it again and then maybe rethink your feelings about Phil Collins. Or maybe not.

exception

You know how there are couples who swear to be faithful except in the presence of a single agreed-upon celebrity? Like, should Johnny Depp show up at the door, desperate for a shag, your husband would sigh, turn up the TV, and pretend he couldn't hear you two bumping uglies? 

Well, Mark and I have come to such agreement.

My man? Is Celery Man. 

Observe: 

Thanks, honey. 

My Biology Professor

I got an A. 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Naw, I actually heard this was pretty bad.