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Unfortunately, even if I found the perfect pair of running shoes and I was the fastest man in the world, I wouldn’t be able to outrun the truth.
I only had a raging meltdown at the one other wedding ceremony I’ve attended, and that bitch I was marrying totally asked for it (I love my wife).
Are you happy with the cleanliness of your carpets even with an assistant that doesn’t ask visitors to wipe their feet when they come in?
Like, it's actually important, it will only take a second or 30 full minutes, time means nothing to me, I'm 7 shots deep and had lettuce for dinner.
If you need to use the bathroom, it's no problem. Just grab a pair of disposable gloves and follow the tape arrows around to the basement door.
"Yeah, it’s cool, I’ll just lay here—lie here?" I’ll mutter, as you clamber out of your, I don’t know, 2012 Ford Fusion, with a Phish decal.
Support us at The Lincoln Project and our quest to return America to her former glory: killing poor people but with good manners.
You do realize this, correct? That you’re inherently susceptible to novel, airborne viruses that could lead to your premature but inevitable death?
Whoever is driving around a 1958 Plymouth Fury and running people over, you are being very RUDE! It is LATE!
The minute you opted for the Pomegranate Margarita, gave your credit card to your "date," and said, "this round's on me," you entered my domain.
“Pine?” No. That’s not “pine,” bitch. That’s the smell of me frolicking through the forest with Jesus.
It doesn’t get more local than illegal reptiles for sale in your neighborhood, now does it? At least you know that they’re telling you the truth.