I Feel Like You’re Only Friends with Me Because of My Printer
You interjected to ask if my depression over the breakup was the reason I had forgotten to buy a new fuchsia ink cartridge.
Michelle Cohn is a New York-based writer and over-analyzer of all things pop culture.
You interjected to ask if my depression over the breakup was the reason I had forgotten to buy a new fuchsia ink cartridge.
I called both my parents to tell them that I loved them, then I drove exactly 5 MPH above the speed limit to work.
My face won’t get all red and puffy, instead, it will take on a healthy glow, so much so that I will no longer need to wear makeup ever again.
I’ve got everything lined up so this grilling experience won’t be sullied by past mistakes. Remember the infamous Frankless Fourth of July?
“Merci,” I respond. “Incroyable,” the driver says, slowly taking off his sunglasses, “You really know your stuff.”
All that yarn wasted connecting pictures of faces when it could be connecting the rose petals of my hand-knit floral sweater.
For me, satire is more than a literary genre. It’s the freedom to say whatever I want and not be accountable for any of it because “I’m just kidding.”
Enjoy public performances like "George Bernard Shaw on a Precariously-Balanced Manhole Cover" and "David Mamet in the Penn Station Bathrooms."