How is it that my morning routine is simultaneously killing me while also helping me barely cling to dear life?
Just over and over again, and it’s been like three hours. Or possibly thousands of years, time sort of has no meaning here.
When learning how to read an analog clock. He raised his hand and guessed the time was “beer thirty.” It was 11:18 AM.
I’m a bit of a superhero, if you think about it. I’ve got all sorts of bottle openers on me at all times.
There’s no way you’re shouting “SEX ON THE BEACH, PLEASE” over the too loud music.
How you doin' (on this quiz)? Remember “The One with the Cake” and “The One with the Baby on the Bus”?
And God said, “Let there be great music so none of them talk to each other,” and there was a DJ who worked in finance but DJed on the side.
Labor Day - Here’s what they won’t tell you about Karl Marx: He’s a daddy!
I tell stories of humanity. Some about a guy getting drunk in the woods. Others about two guys getting drunk in the woods.
How do these seltzer companies make money in such a saturated market? What gives?
We’ve also shitloaded that thing with, like, 17 green olives from the most overpriced gourmet grocery store we could find.
My job sucks. Why did I think working at a bar next to a port on a western bay that serves a hundred ships a day would be a good idea?