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When I married my wife, I assumed all of her knowledge. That's how marriage works. Marriage means sharing everything.
Every block was a rich symphony of hustlers, pushers, junkies, johns and tiny, sinister men dressed as penguins. Truly, Gotham City had it all.
If I were a guessing man, I'd guess I was in the back of an actual garbage truck.
The urinary mishaps of three potty-training boys mingle to deliver this temporally complex white.
I just get so nervous, so convinced that I'll reverse "beaten" and "bound," or forget to say "by the sword," and all the guys will laugh at me.
It might look like I have a pretty good gig, but don’t you think this is kind of fucked up?
Car to driveway. Food to house. Hour to hour. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Smell to food. Food to dumpster and so on.
Ernest Hemingway For Hire: Competent Shoes, Never Filled
You have family wealth and a car that turns into a plane, whereas I am $73,000 in debt with a degree in Applied Puzzles from Gotham University.
Take a deep breath, relax, and let the current of "Ocean River Stream" carry you to notes of Mediterranean sex butter and unwashed ambrosia.
The act of searing the runestone to your forehead for eternity feels clunky compared to Duolingo’s smooth user interface.
The final, most difficult step of my plan: don't act like a total creepy freak in front of other people all the time ever again.