Humor writing published daily. Featured: Best of Year | Editors’ Picks | People’s Favorites | Satire | Guides | Observations | Stories
If I was doing such a bad job, you could've told me. You didn't have to set up 183 dining room chairs in a room bigger than your god-damned house.
There’s so much bare, wet skin chafing against me right now I’m having second thoughts about burying that winner.
What’s next, requiring me to carry a regular wallet instead of my trusty burlap sack with a dollar sign on it?
Aeolus gives me a leather sack full of wind, and my guys open it because they think it’s a Market Basket bag full of Munchkins.
12:27 A.M. Chug an entire glass of water. Future You will deal with this. 1:06 A.M. The song “Mr. Sandman” is stuck in your head.
Lord Craig, why dost thou keep the queue stagnant? Is it not time to order the execution of the pilgrim who insists he has a reservation number?
Time is not my friend. Bacteria from the splinter is multiplying, as I text. I can feel sepsis is setting in. I only have one, two days tops.
To be frank, this email arrives at a somewhat complicated time professionally. Perhaps you heard I was laid off not too long ago.
I’d appreciate it if you listened to my tips for spear-sharpening without sprinting to Human Resources.
Are you too pale? Yes, you are. We don’t even need to look at you; we can tell by your order history.
Back at the wizard’s tower, I’ve got a small team of young apprentices working on Gen-M and frankly, even we’re surprised by its capability.
Until you are told you otherwise, you are only allowed to use cannabis on weekends.