Talk about sun salutations! While vacationing in Rhode Island, 49-year-old drone pilot Kevin Miller from San Diego captures via camera a mysterious man named Brother Joseph Byron, a Benedictine Monk, laying out on the support deck of a 200-ft Portsmouth Abbey wind turbine.

It’s amazing to see the solitary monk secretly sun-soaking in a high AF hideaway with zero safety net like it’s no big deal.

At first, you’ll see the surprised sunbather politely wave to the invasive camera. However, Brother Joseph shrugs his shoulders at 0:45 as the snooping camera centers itself for a closer look—makes you wonder if he’s thinking, “go away, please.”

Geez, Kevin, it’s not like Brother Joseph just got busted for having an Ashley Madison account. Give him some privacy and mind your own business.


Two unlikely friends enjoy a playdate together in this clip posted by Art C., captured at the Elephant Nature Park in Chiang Mai, Thailand.

A baby pachyderm gives chase to this zippy pooch, but can’t quite keep up. Seemingly exasperated, the elephant grabs some grass with his trunk at 0:38, tossing it in the air as if to say, “I’m over this…”

But don’t be startled by this elephant’s seemingly miffed behavior. Elephants are highly-empathetic and social, using their senses of smell and touch to understand the world around them due to “relatively poor vision.”

Looks like this baby just wants a better grasp on what the hell “a dog” is, while the high-speed canine appears to love the chase.

You’ll get it when you see it.


Quick-witted YouTuber Simon Gilmore bombards his girlfriend with non-stop puns on the Swedish names of IKEA home-goods, creating a cheesy two minute video that’s probably easier to tolerate than actually shopping there.

But don’t tell that to his annoyed girlfriend Dana, who frustratingly says “stop”, “seriously, stop,” and “oh my God, Simon, stop” for the entirety of their walk through the store. Simon’s only response is to hold products up to the camera and keep cracking jokes.

Some of his knee-slapping puns include, “Hey, Dana, this clock looks pretty SMYCKE,” “My hair’s a bit fluffy, can you remind me to BYGEL?,” and “You just think you’re SMARTA than me.”

Proud of his pun-ability, Simon holds up a packet of napkins called Särskild, declaring “But I’m SÄRSKILD at this though!”

“No, you’re not,” she responds.

Time to bag it up!

A vainglorious dipshit with anger issues?

It’s early. I’m up, and now on my 3rd demi-tasse of espresso.

Reading the latest on super-Christian Sam Rader getting kicked out of a Vlogger conference on Saturday, thinking that perhaps people who make a career out of contriving viral videos are a little unstable.

I always thought that the “husband surprising the wife with PG announcement” was a little dishonest. But now in light of this weekend’s outster from a conference, as well as his admittance to having an Ashley Madison account, it’s pretty clear this dude wants attention any way he can get it.

Lycopene For Days

I binge-watched “Last Man On Earth,” a show that I kinda boycotted, based on its commercials, thinking it looked stupid.

I was wrong. Show’s pretty awesome, even though Will Forte’s character wasn’t completely likable.

But that’s the thing—current TV and film characters are not 100% likable. Proof: Amy Schumer’s character Amy in Trainwreck.

Even though she’s an asshole, cowardly whining through life as she screws guys and makes a lot of money, you still root for her.

Same goes for Will Forte’s Phil who is so annoying but you still care about him.

Anyway, maybe I should go out? Like Seinfeld says “[going] out is one of the single most enjoyable experiences of life.”

Shady Passage

We’re back in New York. I got to hang out with old friends, snap pics for Instagram, and dance on a bar-top to Joan Jett at soon-to-be-shuttered Hogs and Heifers.

For a brief moment, I felt like a 25-year-old with no responsibilities and no sagging boobs, lost in a douche-filled Manhattan, and riding in Ubers for the motherfucking first time.

“You’ve never been in an Uber?!” my un-familied friends asked, shocked. “What, do you live in an attic like Flowers in the Attic?”


And to make me feel even more like a marginalized-mom, all the un-familied women organize their phone apps by categories like “Photography” and “Social,” and have air-tight sexting strategies that include filing images to an app called “the vault.”

“Yeah, I put all my dick-pics in the vault,” one woman said as we piled into the Uber.

I told a good-looking but highly-cheesy guy from Newark, who looked Puerto Rican but wore a 100% Irish t-shirt, that I had to be home by midnight so as to not turn into a pumpkin.

That’s what happens to people like me from New Jersey, I let him know, never revealing that it’s because I’m a married mom.

It’s the drinking water, no one realizes that it’s the water!!!

It wasn’t a funny joke then, and it’s still not funny now. But I was cracking up, so happy to be out in the world on my own for only a brief amount of time.

Hey, hey, no slapping noodles…

Cheers to the motherfucking weekend!

The countdown to our New York return starts now!

This past month, I survived the “guilt trips,” “suggestions,” “unintentionally racist moments,” and the utter wackness of sleeping in my husband’s dusty childhood room that’s remained unchanged/untouched since he left home at 19.

I love LA for its temperate weather, and overall easier daily life.

I like quiet. I like seemingly clean streets and ficus trees.

However, I don’t think I could take hovering in-laws if we lived here. Love them, but that would annoy the fuck out of me.

Anyway, while my SO attended a conference this week, leaving my LO and I to spend upwards of 12 hours a day with my in-laws, we actually had a nice time.

I swallowed my words when my white MIL told a random black mother who was assisting at a toddler-focused play group that she wanted to “take” her little 7-year-old girl home with us so that she could work as my LO’s “au pair,” because she was “SO good” with him.

I pursed my lips tighter than an asshole, while sitting in a sandbox with my MIL, when she suggested, earshot of a noisy nanny, that I should stop “slipping out” of the house. (ABSOLUTELY FALSE)

“Maybe you can try saying goodbye, letting him know you’ll be right back,” she said.(ALSO ABSOLUTELY FALSE)

As I sat in silent protest, fighting the urge to say “I don’t that,” and “that one time I left with no bye-bye was because he was busy watching Winnie-The-Pool with YOU.

The nanny chimes in immediately to back her up.

I don’t even feel like quoting her here, but it had something to do with causing long-lasting temper tantrums. I wanted to step on both of their feet.

Annoying crap aside, I’m still the same old me, trying to survive, and be a good wife and mother first. And if that involves making my husband’s mom happy, well, fuck it.

I have bigger problems like the fact that I’ve been overly occupying my brain thinking about the 23 and me results I received yesterday.

Do I want to know how black I am, so that I can feel better about how white I am?

Haven’t touched on the real reason yet. In the meantime, I’m going to distract myself with this video.


This cute Boston Terrier named Rose, is winning at life by continually bouncing an orange balloon off her snout, as if she’s trying out for the U.S. Olympic Volleyball team.

Watch as the fully focused pooch scampers with only this balloon on her mind.

Are you trying to tell us something about determination, Rose?

That’s deep AF.

One Shot, One Opportunity

Busting a Champagne bottle on the bow of a ship might bring “good luck,” but what happens when you attempts to shatter one against a wall?

Well, wonder no more. This slow-motion FAIL, titled “One Shot, One Opportunity,” featuring a tuxedo-donning, champagne-wielding shooter, getting a direct hit-in-the-hip, torpedo-style from a backfiring bottle of the fancy stuff.

That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.