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This shirt is a pixelated “Princess Bride”/video-game reference. That you can buy on the Internet. It’s everything I love. (via Woot)

Dear Tina Fey

Note from 2022 Rachel: God I now absolutely hate this post

—

In your book (which is wonderful, by the way), towards the end (SPOILER ALERT), you mention a theory:

I have a suspicion—and hear me out, ’cause this is a rough one—I have a suspicion that the definition of “crazy” in show business is a woman who keeps talking even after no one wants to fuck her anymore. … This is the infuriating thing that dawns on you one day: Even if you would never sleep with or even flirt with anyone to get ahead, you are being sexually adjudicated by these LA creeps. Network executives really do say things like “I don’t know. I don’t want to fuck anybody on this show.” … (To any exec who has ever said that about me, I would hope you would at least have the intelligence and self-awareness to know that the feeling is extremely mutual.)

There is also a point in your book where you address some ass-hats on the Internet who’ve written you ill-guided, semi-illiterate missives. So in the hope of becoming one of those ass-hats, I just wanted to say:

Every smart, funny, attractive boy I know between the ages of 18 and 60 wants to fuck you. Literally every boy.

I just thought you should know.

Good luck with all your future endeavours, and thank you for being super-great.

Sincerely,

A girl who sort of wants to be you (kinda. a little. totally.)

The more New Yorkers like something, the more disgusted they are. “The kitchen was all Sub-Zero: I want to kill myself. The building has a playroom that makes you want to break your own jaw with a golf club. I can’t take it.”

Tinay Fey, on New Yorkers and getting a manicure, in the absolutely wonderful Bossypants.

It’s so unfair! I have eight other senses, but I’d trade them all, even smision, to be able to taste.

-Bender, The 30% Iron Chef