Dear Christy,

We started wondering why the rotating tray used in kitchens is called a lazy Susan. Women are usually the kitchen’s bitch, so it’s hard to believe that it was Susan who was lazy. We are proposing the device be renamed lazy Steve.

— Team Florida Lesbians


My research found that this revolving server, first called a dumbwaiter, has a variety of origins.

One theory points to the contraption as Thomas Jefferson’s invention. Tall tales tell us his daughter would always get the short end of the kebob and was constantly served last at dinner, often leaving the table hungry. Jefferson didn’t have a daughter named Susan, but back in the day — when the world was so old its balls would hit toilet water when it was taking a shit — servers were usually female. So, Susan.

Which brings me to another theory. Newspaper columnist Evan Morris posits that “Susan” was a common name for maids and “lazy” pointed at the supposed indolence of these servants.

Some say Thomas Edison invented the device, an evolution of his phonographic turntable.

Basically, what we’ve learned today is that rich assholes who had servants to butter their fucking bread and trim their pubes also tagged the “help” as “dumb” and “lazy.” These rich folk probably would Louis C.K. all over them (it’s a verb now) then send them back to their virgin quarters where they would sleep with one eye open and pray they wouldn’t get their pussies grabbed.

Who’s the lazy one?

This is taking a dark turn. Lazy Steve it is.


What’s with the Adderall obsession? Some students only sleep twice a week and many use it to work three jobs while going to school full time. They’re over-overachieving and not enjoying college. Thoughts?

— I’m stoned

High there:

What happened to snorting shit off dive bar toilets? Washing psychedelics down with malt liquor? Smoking moldy resin?

I may be your grandma (really, I’ve had my way with some older gentlemen), but as I shake my finger at damn kids these days, I am also here to sprout a ripping fine yarn about how millennials should channel Gen-Xers and strive for a solid C average. It seems that millennials put too much pressure on themselves to achieve (although it doesn’t help that attending college costs three fucking jobs atop 17 credits).

The generation’s integrity and hard work deserve hand claps, but college is a time to find who you are through poor decisions and drunken orgies. Instead of taking concentration pills, sniff grandma’s ether (I’ll fax you some) and float over a mosh pit. Dip your privates in Varsity Lake. Get shitfaced and slide pantsless down a Flatiron. Skip a class. Adopt a prairie dog. Save for a Ford instead of a Subaru. Reach for the lights, not the stars. Stop buzzing at maximum efficiency.

Think you have anxiety now? Wait until you are a lazy Susan, I mean Steve, working for the (wo)man and you’re washing down 100mg of Zoloft with boxed wine. (Speaking for a journalist whose year of hard work will aid a hedge funder’s weekend sabbatical to Mar-a-Lago.)

For now, snort one moment, not 60 moments. Take care of your mental health. Boil ramen, not blood pressure. Then mix that shit with hoisin sauce, smoke a joint and eat like nobody’s watching.

And tell gramps to Anthony Weiner me.

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