At 3:41 p.m. on Thursday, Jezebel Managing Editor Kate Dries received a series of text messages alerting her: men were typing a comment on an internet article.
This week, for all intents and purposes, was shit. But now it's the weekend. Let's talk about that, instead.
Last week I was looking through my friend/coworker Joy's Facebook photos and came across a signed photo she had from Joan Rivers. At work the next day, I asked her about it and we got into a half-hour conversation about celebrities we'd written to as kids. It became quickly clear that Joy's collection of celebrity…
Whenever I'm feeling down, I just cue up an emotional Drake song and let it work its magic. But why do sad songs make us feel better? Glad you asked, because there's yet another study for that.
Have you seen this video of a best man catching a bride in flagrante delicto (that means sexxxing) with a bartender? Well, it's got us thinking about what other offenses you or someone else has seen, heard or caught on tape. Tell us everything! Spare no one! (Please use pseudonyms.)
I love Halloween, I am committed to being good at it and I would like to see the rest of America do as I do. (Recent costumes–all homemade–include Tilikum the killer whale, Rainbow Fish and a flamingo. Yes, I do see that there is a theme there but I promise it was accidental and I am spicing things up this year.)
Did a chill just run down your spine? That's probably because R.L. Stine has arrived at Jezebel to take your questions.
Happy Halloween, people who aren't going to sleep tonight!
Attention, class! R.L. Stine, sponsor of your childhood nightmares, will be visiting today for a Q&A with Jezebel readers! The chat starts at 1 pm ET, so scheme on some questions. If you don't have time to reread the entire Goosebumps/Fear Street canon, refresh your memory with our Cheerleaders: The First Evil throwback.
Don't even bother tightening your belts; you're about to get your pants scared off. Last week, we asked you to tell us your spookiest, freakiest, goosebump-iest stories. And, holy sleepless night with the lights on — you did not disappoint.
Courtesy the song "Welcome To New York," Taylor Swift has been named "NYC's Global Welcome Ambassador for Tourism," making one wonder if the song was just a super-genius Bloombergian scheme hatched by Swift and the tourism board to promote 1989 and also all those fugnacious condos they keep letting people build.
As the grass grows deader and an otherworldly chill fills the air, thoughts turn to the march of darkness into waning summer days, and the unknowable, and sometimes horrifying secrets that it holds. It's here. It's finally here. It's our annual Spooky Stories contest.
Well, do you?
Breakups are responsible for some of the world's best pop songs and worst poetry. And most memorable stories.
Since it's become acceptable for intelligent grown-ups to read and engage in young adult fiction, it was only a matter of time before we could start getting into children's books, as well. Both Slate's Troy Patterson and Jezebel's founding editor Anna Holmes have recently revisited books from their childhoods,…
Flipped through the William Sonoma catalog lately? It's basically a glossy, overproduced database of hilariously specific kitchen gadgets. Pans just for frittatas, garlic presses out the wazoo, ice-cream makers, this fucking handheld strawberry slicer. Then again, one person's dust-covered mistake is another's prized…
Love (or lust, or bored vague horniness) makes people do crazy things. That's because love is biology trying to chemically catfish us into having kids, and your chemicals are not fucking around.
Gather round, star watchers, and ready all your questions about celebrity, Golden Age Hollywood and Rudolph Valentino's taste in interior design because Scandals of Classic Hollywood scribe Anne Helen Petersen is here to answer them.
Wedding season twenty fourteen is winding down, and with colder temperatures comes time for reflection. And rueful laughter.
Life is beautiful. The process by which life comes into the world is generally not.