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This secret menu item is complicated, multi-layered, bold, and bitter: it’s perfect for the starving artist (because it’s got 12 grams of protein).
“D-Did I leave my Chapstick over here?” Meadowbrook blurted. “Oh!” She said. “If you did, I haven’t seen it. Maybe it floated out of your pod?”
I separate emotion from logic and wield my mighty Trident of Critical Thinking, which is a normal trident that I use to emphasize my pronouncements.
Battlefield Of Nothing Special: where our nation’s soldiers duked it out for no good reason, and left a legacy that no one can put their finger on.
Lois has been distant ever since we found out my sperm could kill her. She keeps making snide comments about how Batman wouldn't have this problem.
There were signs: Marco Rubio found Mitch had recently searched for “sexy outraged citizens tear male politician to shreds video.”
You will know it is your Town Hall when we remove your blindfold and handcuffs and you find yourself seated across from Anderson Cooper.
Mother slapped me. She was a former NYPD detective, eighty-eight years old and in the early stages of dementia.
An orange squid has entered my dreams, watching me practice my ascending spin and barrel sculls with languid disinterest. I cannot banish him.
At satisfying video school, I got to nerd out with fellow satisfying video geeks over the differences in crunch between Kinetic Sand and Madmattr.
I bet firefighters loved it when the red priestess Melisandre lit thousands of Dothraki arakhs aflame. These days, people only care about fast fires.
New Yorker cartoons: You love The New Yorker. You READ The New Yorker. But 9 times out of 10 you buy The New Yorker for those sweet, sweet cartoons.