Where was I? How high is high? Why was I sitting there? Had I been sleeping the whole time? Is all of life a dream, as Descartes once suggested?
Author: Sammy Sportface
Sometimes two people stop talking to each other, and there isn't even a big argument at the end. They just avoid each other, forever.
It's as if to be part of the intelligentsia you have to say "look" before making your point. Look at what? Look where? You're a jerk.
You've discovered it's not so unpleasant and disturbing to wake up in the middle of the night with last night's dinner still percolating in your mouth.
Step right up. Rummage around. Bring your money. You're invited to my first-time-ever, never-gonna-happen-again, going-out-of-business driveway and backyard sale.
It's the most demanding, stressful, scary, humbling, embarrassing and brutally honest test of your strength of character and ability to fight through pain to finish a race.
You want value from words. You want to be enriched. You don’t want people wasting your time. If this goes on for one more paragraph, you will stop reading.
"At the end of the day" is, at the end of the day, one of those phrases like "it is what it is" that we need to eradicate from our daily lives.
A three-on-three volleyball game is about to start in the sand only a seashell's toss from the Trump Ocean. Ben Carson, John Kasich, Marco Rubio, and Chris Christie are there.
Your life will be more frustrating than you could ever imagine. It is endless agony. Decapitation is the only answer. Off with your head.