To be honest, Rosa’s kind of an enigma. At times bitter, scalding, and sweet, she’s been bouncing around the eastern seaboard for a bit more than a decade. You can usually find her somewhere in the Mid-Atlantic falling in love, jumping into lust, or wallflowering at parties. Judgmental and feminist to a fault, she’s always ready with (surprisingly apt) advice and criticism on loving, socializing, and fucking. She also likes boats.
meet the staff
We pretty much owe our staff a blood debt for all of the fantastic work they put in.
Dean arrived at our digital doorstep a drunken rueful man-child at rock bottom. In exchange for patience and understanding from our female staff (and a mild stipend) he has promised to allow us to follow him as he “totally turns his life around this time.” This recovering misogynist is hoping to heal the hole in his heart torn out by a recent grasp of Derridean ethics. Try and forgive him as he attempts not to forget.
Shortly after softcorigami went live last year, a yellowed, crusty envelope smelling strongly of pot and unlicensed strip clubs arrived on our doorstep. It contained only a blurry picture and this note:
Im’a bout to do you a big damn favor, so get your hands off your junk and pay some goddamn attention. Tits, tattoos, THC, I can dig this kinda shit. But anyone looking at this bullshit ‘blog’ has clearly spent way too long staring at a bunch of fucking blinking lights in a box, ‘stead of taking a minute to make some deserving sack of shit in a pink polo and greek letters doubt his sexuality. While you’re in here filling your gym socks, masses of humanity are just yolo’ing their way through life, totally unassailed by reason and decency.
And, since I’m low on scotch and blow, I’m gonna teach you drooling husks how to deal with these meathead fucks. You’re going to send cash. Weekly.
Naturally, we assumed these were the words of some deranged madman surviving on dirt and his own feces in a well-armed bunker in the woods. We still haven’t ruled that out.
Nonetheless, we’ll be bringing you the angry ramblings of the Fallen Prankster.
We’re sorry. He made us.
Jeff says he enjoys “spending time enjoying time.” To that end, he’s been making friends and teaching them how to party for a while. He started in high school by throwing 40-100-person parties, handling whatever kind of lunacy occurred. His Dionysian hunger for getting down was merely exacerbated in college, as he learned the ways of bringing the ruckus while working to make sure every guest was enjoying the proceedings. Simultaneously managing to throw frat parties, apartment keggers, and interstate free-for-alls honed his desire to bring the gospel of Party to the masses. “Party safe, party well, make friends, hook up, and be respectful.”
Listening to Prince’s discography again… The new !!! album comes out soon… The Wax show in Baltimore was excellent except for the first opener, Two Fat White Guys Doing a Shitty Mid-80s Beastie Boy Impression. Or whatever. Go listen to “Radar Love”. Cloud Atlas was awesome. The stupidity of North Korea astounds me. This is the end of my bio.
Milly, an erstwhile journalist, currently works as a disgruntled Administrative Assistant, biding her time until someone comes along and makes the mistake of actually paying her to write. She enjoys goat cheese, the work of James Joyce, and a good bottle of Malbec; she does not enjoy misogyny, overcooked vegetables, or reality television. She spends her free time drinking and smoking her life away, but she has made peace with this fact. A word of warning: she has read far too much feminist film theory for her own good. If she starts ranting about the male gaze or the semiotics of experience, just back away slowly.
Contributing editor. Vizier-of-all-trades.
Contributor. God-king. Emperor.