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Why strip away the rights of people like me, a man in perfect mental health who wants to shove a razor blade into a Pecan Chunky purely for kicks?
You picture it. You see the wisdom. Unlike Drake, you do not accept God's plan. "I'm too good for that," you say. "Are you fucking kiddi–" God says.
Um, I don't know why anyone but Tim Cook is still reading this, but you should probably bottle up your excitement...
Hal's Review: "About 13,000 people died there in the early 1900s, but you could hardly tell!"
Doctors always say things like "watch that cholesterol." They are unwarrantedly suspicious and overtly vigilante over an entire group. It's profiling!
Depression: Did I go too far by putting a puppy on my lap as I hold a guitar? Sure, I don’t know how to play guitar, but she doesn’t know that.
If he’s willing to stand behind his declaration of love for your “sweet ass,” then odds are that he’ll also be into a committed relationship.
Who the heck owns a letter opener anymore? I’ll tell you who: people like me, looking for socially acceptable ways to always have a knife nearby.
Although, speaking of our actual bodies, you should absolutely look a gift horse in the mouth. You can tell a horse's age by looking at its teeth.
So rarely is a short fiction necessary, but in times like these, reading pieces such as this truly massages my mimblelaxy.
You notice a phalanx of tiny Greek soldiers inside your body and they're stabbing you in the lungs with their historically accurate iron spears.
It rains all the time and sometimes floods, but it’s never awful, so it wouldn’t surprise me if our Heavenly Father said this purely to make a fuss.