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Layers are not only functional, keeping you warm throughout the day. They’ll also help you take an ordinary fit and make it 10x more interesting. It’s the single easiest thing you can do, if you do it right. Start practical. Keep the color scheme neutral.

Alright, folks. We are officially in the legal recreational marijuana era in Illinois. At this precise moment in time, you are just minutes away from your choice of the best strains, tastiest edibles, coolest accessories, and indispensable expert advice. Here’s a quick guide in case you don’t know how you’re getting absolutely ripped tonight. Happy New Years, even if you’re not #420 friendly. And for those who are, maybe I’ll see ya in line at the dispensaries.

I was 17 when I smoked for the first time. It was a group of us, riding around in my buddy’s Bronco, thinking we were the shit. Thinking we made it. Lol. Smh.

TJ Miller describes a lavish Hollywood party and his encounter with Paris Hilton.

Winter is here, and that means that it’s time to bring out the heavy stuff. When it comes to fashion, I consider myself a bit of a savant. I layer like a motherfucker, (because I don’t check the weather before going outside), and have a wardrobe as versatile as my sexuality. Like plenty of other guys my age, my bank account isn’t quite thiccc enough to have the amount of fashionable items that one would desire. Through this struggle, I rely on what I call staple pieces.

Ghosting: It’s real, and it’s happening everywhere, to seemingly everyone. The topic recently came up while I was out to dinner with some friends. We asked a buddy of mine if his girl was joining for an upcoming concert.

“We’re not talking anymore, I think.”

We pressed him on the issue, and he finally relented his silence and spilled the beans: “She straight up ghosted me.”

As with every man in America—even Ryan Gosling, probably—I’ve experienced several unrequited crushes over the years. My God, are they painful. Horrible. But worse, still, is repeated exposure to a special subset of the unrequited crush. And that is, I believe, of the absolute cruelest variety. Namely, crushes on women who talk dirty. As in, women who are dreaded just friends but who discuss with you in vivid detail their exploits with other men who are not just friends. Avoid this situation because it is hell in its purest form—a constant and excruciating reminder of that which you will never experience. The following cases are culled from my own experience and are offered with the expectation that such anecdotal evidence is but the first step in the long march toward a comprehensive knowledge of preventing the “just friends” label. In other words, I hope my notes will help.

Hello there. I see you are looking under my bed. Welcome. I’m glad you’re here because I’d like to announce that I am running for President of the United States. I am the perfect candidate because unlike Beto O’Rourke, I am not on top of a table, and unlike Joe Biden, I am not kissing or hugging anybody. Instead, I am lying on my stomach, under my bed, far from anything that could be incriminating or, at the very least, remotely be seen as lewd, awkward, or inappropriate behavior. That is why I should be your president.

Being rejected for any reason is difficult, but being rejected because of choices about alcohol has a particular sting. At first it made me feel like a burden, like I had been excluded from a part of society everyone else seem to really enjoy. So I went back to joining in on the fun. Then back off because I disliked feeling like shit for 24 - 48 hours after. Then back on because I’m a weak man. It’s taken some heart-to-hearts and serious introspection to to reframe my thoughts, though the learning curve on sober life has been steep, especially since I’ve previously used booze to power through initial shyness of talking with strangers. And by “previously,” I mean literally this past Sunday.

Well, if you’re thinking of taking on Sober October seriously, or simply supporting someone who is, here are some notes I hope you’ll find helpful.

I am not here to tell you to stop drinking—I am not even here to tell you to stop drinking to get drunk, or to stop drinking alone, or even to stop waking up feeling like you need a drink to get on the level. In fact, I would like to tell you to keep it up and that you are doing a great job!

Baseball is boring. Even baseball fans agree with this. I grew up in Chicago, where people take baseball very seriously. There’s a reason your grandpa loves baseball: It’s because he can nap in the middle of the game. You shouldn’t be able to eat while playing a sport, but baseball is so slow that the players do. Bubble gum, seeds, and even fried chicken. Have a bit of a beer belly but still want to play a professional sport? Baseball is for you. Players are literally mic’d up and talking to announcers while playing in the outfield. Baseball is a waiting game, like fishing. Or looking for a parking spot at a mall in December. It's a sport that was built to be boring, and the boring is what makes baseball an ideal date.

A story as old as time. We fellas gotta let our girls think they’re in charge to keep things in order. But we’re the men of the house, and that means we really run the show. What’s that? Your girl prefers you call it “our house?” Whatever, that’s cool. Let her think that, too.

The first weekend of summer is coming to a close. Wherever you drank this weekend, you were able to escape life’s problems, even if only for a day or two. But tomorrow is Monday, and these problems will still be there. Haunting you. Lingering over you.

Maybe you’re trying to push your problems down, somewhere deep inside yourself, as you try to smile at your reflection in the mirror. There’s no use in that. Your problems are written all over you, and I know them based off of what kind of beer you ordered this weekend.

My brother and sister each have crushes on some dipshits at their school. This is the start of a huge problem. Sure, these are harmless, innocent crushes now. But eventually, when they’re in high school, these kids are going to start asking questions. Questions that they’re too embarrassed or shy to ask our mom or their dad. The thing is, I won’t be able to help them. I have no idea how to tell if someone likes you, let alone how someone will like you in 2032.

Look, let’s start with this: I am no way proud of having written this piece. I started an IG account to promote the website, and I’m not even going to post this shit on there. While this isn’t a topic you’ll find me droning on and on about at bars, it is something that I have gone back-and-forth on enough to warrant further consideration.