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It’s a zero-sum game out there. Every piece of candy you don’t get goes into the gaping, cavity-filled maw of some other kid.
Admire the local artisanship on display, particularly the humanoid stick figures bound in twine looming overhead in the trees.
The monster in the poem “dwelt in the moor-fens, the marsh and the fastness”--and guess what, that’s exactly where my monster dwelt.
Be tidy. If you have showered in body fluids, towel off before excursions.
The dads effectively hit everything except the ball causing a lot of property damage while the factory workers could not settle on a bat.
MINDLESS EATING MACHINES, TO STRIKE TERROR INTO THE HEARTS OF MEN. FOR MAN IS THE WARMEST PLACE TO HIDE. For $2 more the pizzas come with extra cheese.
Looking down and seeing my legs dangling over a 400-foot drop has helped me to put certain decisions I’ve made about my life into focus.
My hours are long, there’s no clock, and my wages are… well it’s just the pellets, isn’t it?
Their parents, who are never in town, don’t answer my emails, so parent-teacher conferences are as big a joke as life insurance in this town.
Fennel: The least soluble kid in her grade. A boss baby who doesn’t care about boys or cornbread.
Don’t use the names of people you know, such as your husband---whose disappearance 12 years ago was a tragic accident you’re still really sad about.
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