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I’d like to say I understand your pain, but how could I? The only terror I’ve experienced is watching everyone I ever loved die.
It's time again to celebrate our beloved little Scarface-quoting third-grader. He's the reason your kid knows what ketamine is.
We had a sneaking suspicion it might taste bad after our first focus group. People were saying it was "upsetting" and it made them feel "unsafe."
The MacGruber Clan, Lords of the Valley of Non-Violence, have been acting suspiciously peaceful.
You interjected to ask if my depression over the breakup was the reason I had forgotten to buy a new fuchsia ink cartridge.
Now, I’m not bashing Chad. Chad’s fine. Chad does consistently adequate work, and he’s even finally learned what a pivot table is.
Don’t Leave a Voicemail: Voicemails are a dusty artifact from the days before text messaging.
Either way, I’m not going to pursue my dream full-time. Recklessly spend my money trying to make a living out of a hobby? No, that would be ridiculous.
My day looks just like any other grown 40-year-old singular man. I wake up at 5:00 AM sharp and eat my coffee and eggs just like all of you.
I know we only met in passing at Brianna’s Axe-Throwing Farewell Party, but I got SUCH a great vibe from you.
Also, I was just joking when I said in my initial email that I would fold the report into a paper airplane and dart it at your bulbous ass.
Surely this monstrosity holds some meaning that is beyond our minuscule Lego brains.