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You scrolled your own Instagram profile for 3 hours last week. You will never get that time back.
“I reckon this town ain’t big enough for The Both of Us, my start-up concept for a novelty cowboy singles bar.”
This family has a rich history of Crazy Uncles ruining Thanksgiving. A tradition that you are now responsible for.
What’s that they’re talking about now? "Where’s Aunt June’s fun dip?” The fuck is fun dip? Christ in heaven, this is Thanksgiving!
Nothing good will come from yelling about whether there’s a glue spot on the plastic pear that indicates where a neighboring bunch of muscats should be adhered.
Thanksgiving is one of the few days that I can gather with my family, eat a huge plate of delicious food, and pound back six or seven glasses of gravy.
I walk out into my backyard party—it’s always a party in my backyard. I smile and clink glasses with a man who could be my neighbor, but is he?
FastFix here. Hard to articulate... but there’s something about 5:00 that feels more rounded out than 4:30, don’t you think?
Consider swinging with a witch: The best way to do this is by mentioning that you saw them from across the bog, and you really dig their vibe.
Q: Do I need to time the hourglass? A: No. That would be redundant.
The revelations about the human condition you experience after consuming hallucinogenic mushrooms make it much easier to come up with future Fortune 500 companies.
Registered: A brand new crib with a breathable, hypoallergenic mattress / My Baby Wanted: Our dog’s bed, full of dog hair and slobbery toys