Sometimes shit in life becomes too much and something—be it small or large—pushes you over the emotional edge. Often these bouts of OH GOD MY FUCKING LIFE FUCK YOU FUCK ME FUCK EVERYTHING are accompanied by shouting, crying and general displays of melodrama that you're sure to feel dumb and embarrassed about later. So tell us: When was the time you most epically lost your shit?

A quick poll of the burnouts at Jezebel.com shows that a lot of our freak-outs are weed or shrooms related, but there were other stories, too. One staffer was so enraged by her brother that she got distracted and rolled her car into oncoming traffic; an editor, realizing she'd have to come home to frozen New York City after a tropical vacation, burst in tears because she "just wanted to fly kites;" there are several of us who've meltdown at parties over ex boyfriends; Kate Dries hasn't "had a public meltdown since childhood" because she's void of emotion and possibly the inspiration behind American Psycho; and I have one particularly mortifying memory of being overcome by sobs in front of my high school algebra class because—as I howled to my teacher—"I DON'T GET IT AND I'M NEVER GOING TO GET IT."

(Wow: Overly emotional bad drivers who can't do math. Oh, god: THE MRAs ARE RIGHT.)

Before you share the tales from the end of your rope, let's celebrate the winners of last week's Pissing Contest, Your Strangest Secret Single Behavior.

BurlyqLawyer, who's having the best alone time:

I fart with wild abandon and laugh at the noises. I fart as I high kick. I fart while plié-ing. If I'm laying down, I stick my butt high up in the air and fart. I'll fart when I'm far enough into the relationship, but not with the same gusto.

WTF with NoodleStory:

I hold full, out-loud, long conversations by myself, pretending I'm a guest on WTF with Marc Maron. Sometimes I politely argue with him; sometimes we battle; sometimes I just charm him with my stories and wit. It's intensely self-indulgent and embarrassing and I love it. I would DIE if someone overheard me. I have a whole backstory about how I wrote a screenplay, and I'm nominated for all kinds of awards.

Gnomi Malone, RIP:

Sometimes I like to randomly flop down with my tongue hanging out the side of my mouth and imagine what my chalk outline would look like if I died suddenly while folding the laundry or something.

Occasionally I follow that with slowly curling my fingers up like corpses do during rigor mortis then I quickly check out my nails. It gives me great satisfaction when they are on point because no matter how bad my hypothetical dead body may look, the EMTs or coroners will probably appreciate some elegant fingernails.

Obviously I don't ever pretend to be a dead body when my husband is around. That would be weird.

Well done, weirdos.


Contact the author at madeleine@jezebel.com.

Image via Jawbreaker/TriStar Pictures.