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It's pledge drive season here at NPR, and we're going to air some of the worst radio you’ve ever imagined until you pay us to stop.
I’m not sure what the deal is but I wanted to lodge a formal complaint. Do you have an email?
Maybe you’re a tea that’s going to help me self-actualize after one harrowing night on the toilet. You’re gonna want to use the word “tummy.”
The oldest child doesn’t have to do it, that’s a myth. Of course you believe that, you thought chlamydia came from kissing in the dark until you were 14.
What’s the deal with rattles nowadays? Seems to me like a poor excuse for jangly keys! Oh, wait– can someone bring me a bottle?
While I appreciate your dedication to authenticity, it’s making our battlefields look like the aftermath of Carrie’s prom.
This is going to ruffle a lot of feathers, but when an orange is small, it’s still an orange. I’m talking to you, clementines and mandarins.
It’s not a big deal, even though it kind of is. No problem if not.
What’s going on in that head of yours that’s got you so worked up while we’re just sitting here hate-scrolling through your ex’s Facebook?
What have you been up to during Covid, other than neglecting your split ends, obviously? Did you box dye your hair? I thought so.
First, it’s going to be a little bit longer than we anticipated, only about ten hours or so, but that includes some breaks!
He was licking his scales clean with his tongues, when he looked up, made eye contact with me, and bared his fang. It was love at first sight.