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Awfully hot day, isn’t it? It’s always hot here in the summers, but we make do. That’s what the Edgar family does. We make do.
From the moment you looked into Doris's eyes, you knew that your father's assistant who majored in Comp Lit at Yale would find the right words to describe them.
When I switched to the New York Times mini-crossword they yelled at me again---and put child locks on so I could only look at replays.
The enemy of my massage therapist, Janet, is her husband, Ricky. That’s no coincidence. They married young when they were so naïve.
Everyone keeps crying out that the ride is malfunctioning once the coaster is hanging perilously upside down. It’s an intense ride.
When God closes a door, he opens a window. Because you will never, and I mean never, have central air conditioning.
How many of the hostages are in relationships? 12? Do they seem like they’re happy?
I was born here and I’ll die here and so will 500 of my brothers and sisters. You moved to New York City to go to NYU and major in bisexuality.
Would you rather be sentenced to death for something you didn’t do or have a rock in your shoe?
A Subtle Jingle Ascending in Scale: Your Bluetooth headphones are alerting you to a dying battery with a gentle cry for sustenance.
I’m dead (claw machine accident, I’m sure it was in the papers) and now that I’ve spent enough time floating around, I’m ready to respond.
It’s the very best thing I’ve ever written. Or, it’s the worst book ever typed into existence. Which one it is, I can’t say for sure.