Jenni Berrett

Boy, do we have some great finds this week. Olympic farting and synth-soaked summer jams — what more could you want? If your answer was "a longform piece of investigative journalism detailing Nicki Minaj's appearance at a bar mitzvah," you've come to the right place.

At some point intellect has to make room for something bigger, for something scarier than just about anything. In order to truly learn something, you have to be vulnerable. You have to walk in and set your broken parts on the table and say, “Here, fix it. Or at least be broken with me.”

“Girls don’t masturbate, right? I don’t masturbate. Do you masturbate? Can girls masturbate? I don’t think they can — I’m pretty sure my mom doesn’t.”

More than any other unsolicited mental health advice I’ve received over the course of my life is the admonishment to “fake it till you make it.”

"I had always pictured myself spending afternoons studying there. I instead found myself curled up on one of those benches at five in the morning, promising the crises hotline operator that no, I did not want to kill myself. I just didn’t know who else to call."

"...Mental illness isn’t that exclusive. It doesn’t care how your day is going."

The premise is pretty simple: We each give you one thing to watch, one thing to listen to, and one thing to read over the weekend.

Stress-free Interneting is of utmost importance this week. We've got you covered.

I’m just going to come right out and say it: RuPaul’s Drag Race is the best show on television.

I don’t think the bar is low enough. We obviously need a way to work up to the Bechdel Test. Baby steps. And we all know women love babies.