When you need a break from the mind-numbing fixation of staring at your phone, Scrabble® is here to help you.
I hear a lot of interesting kids names at the playground: Emory, Wellesley, Cornell. These parents really seem focused on college admissions. My wife and I weren’t so ambitious. When our son came out, we looked at each other and said, “Ball State.”
The death penalty should be reserved only for microwaves that continue beeping even after you open the door when your food is ready.
My new novel is coming out. Join me for the genre reveal party.
‘My’ ‘Cousin’ ‘Ben’ ‘Works’ ‘In’ ‘Accounting’ ‘And’ ‘He’ ‘Already’ ‘Flagged’ ‘My’ ‘Application’ Surprising, huh?! Who knew it was that simple?!
Last year, I met the lovely Emma outside a Concord tavern. She said she liked my tri-corner hat and asked if anything else of mine is tri-cornered.
Don’t get too cute with the disease you’re pretending to have. Obviously, it has to be a qualifying condition, but it should also be believable.
Thanks to you, our novel species of intelligent beings may roam these brown leather lands and pray to the red flannel ass above.
"remember when i misread the vibe of the kickback at ur place and blacked out on a wednesday?" - nic0tin3 sad b0is
For too long, we have ignored the very real threat that COVID-19 can survive in and be spread through ectoplasm.
You see, when I was fired from my job at Target for stealing money out of the register, it was actually a clever commentary on American capitalism.
Congrats on your new academic article, though I should really be congratulating myself because the version of your I wrote in my head is much better.
There is no need to fixate on future problems before they arise by preemptively discussing a plan for an emergency situation which may never occur.
I was going through your photos, which– Stop screaming, you know you have nothing incriminating.
There's no living author with a better take on the "excruciating telegram" style of mom text messages.
You clapped for me in music when I put all the recorders in my mouth at once. They tasted like the way a basketball smells.
Whose fault is it I don’t look perfect anymore? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my arms that splashed me with queso dip.
You didn’t wake up to be mediocre. That’s the job of the deadbeat still sleeping in your bed.
