There’s no way I could have been dumped. I was in the prime of my life—I had a t-shirt for every major beer brand and I drove a Pontiac Grand Am.
Who better to replace dad than a late night comedy host, who is charismatic, funny, and probably screams at their unpaid interns?
The Tar Pits Behind Third Base Have Been Filled In: The nostalgic need not worry; the sickening smell of sulfur still permeates the entire stadium.
What’s the bigger crime: abducting a federal worker or letting someone live without riding Apollo’s Chariot, one of the Garden’s 8 coasters?
Conquistadors have an old saying: discovering a place makes you that place’s Mom/Dad. Why should Florida’s Dad have to pay $14 for his favorite meal?
The Bride of Frankenstein and I actually had a lot in common. Like her, my fiercest critics have also called me an affront to God.
God gave the Israelites corn and said, “Take this. And eat it only off the cob, with little tiny things called corn holders."
Doctors have diagnosed me with “early onset droopy ass syndrome,” contracted from getting your butt whooped too many times and is also irreversible
Nobody just carves a roast beast like that. Not without training. This guy has combat skills. Probably ex-marine gone rogue. Let’s see him in action.
October 1st, 1926 “Automobiles are fine, but Partybots are the future. I don’t understand why my investors are mad.”