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I’ll tell you this about Carson City, pard: if’n you wanna survive on these wild plains, best thing you can do is subscribe to my newsletter.
"Dude, I heard you were doing the transcendental thing so I brought you a six pack and a slew of magazines of an... Umm... Delicate nature!"
Some of us are in it for the monk-ing and not the "reluctantly helping to investigate a crime despite the suspicion it draws upon themselves"-ing.
You’ve seen the lows; the fighting, the occasional breakups, and the time Jeff left me at Six Flags and the park closed while I was still inside.
Like all bars with inscrutable locations, it’s a speakeasy. A “secret” bar. But it’s a secret the way it’s “a secret” your aunt got a facelift in 2015.
Heaven has several noteworthy attractions. It boasts a decent choir, if you enjoy liturgical music. The library has a good book.
Depending on how gross the thought is, I’ll either do a full “tut tut” or just a simple tongue cluck. It’s an art, really.
By the time your child is in elementary school, they’ll be able to replace your basement door with a beaded curtain adorned with Grateful Dead skulls.
In five years I hope I can stop dwelling on the time when I was sucked into the thick swamp ooze only to be rescued by a creature of the night.
Trent Dribbly is a gale-force wind of fresh air with his unapologetic attitude about stealing leftover food from coworkers.
You looked through my mail and saw my meager wages. Appalled, you negotiated on my behalf, raising my salary commensurate with the rent raise.
Pop open a bottle today. It’s guaranteed to take your mind off the waterspout that’s currently ripping the roof off your neighbor’s house.