It’s Me, the Brooding Whiskey Drinker Who Definitely Understands How Bars Work
Surely you can tell by the creases under my eyes and the lingering scent of nitroglycerin that I’ve had a rough one.
Surely you can tell by the creases under my eyes and the lingering scent of nitroglycerin that I’ve had a rough one.
They were the ones tasked with Edward Scissorhanding the bushes on the hill that greeted you.
My life—the sophomore outing by parents William and Eloise Cunningham—begins confidently enough in suburban Nebraska.
There isn't a law on the books or rule of decorum that will get us to budge. Civilization has no hold over us this deep in the crowd.
Waking up this morning without a hangover was a total bummer, and I fully regret making a conscious decision to do so.
If you hear a man joke, “I’m a real feminist because I would never tell a woman to smile; I yell at them to frown,” then you’ve found the right crowd.
I still remember that first taste, the delicious mouth-feel of the words, the surprising burn as they went down.
We care about your wellbeing because we don’t need your fat ass jacking up our healthcare costs.
Sitting at a bar alone chewing mint gum while sipping a fruity drink is the ideal thing for a confident person to do at a party.
Right next to the cookie butter, inexpensive wine, and cow bell that our employees ring for no reason, you'll find all of our newest goodies.
Those men aren’t fighting for freedom, like us! We have uncommon courage. And it takes uncommon courage to be at Aberdeen’s right at 6.
You’re two feet tall and none of your clothes fit anymore. This new trait may be the most noticeable, but it’s also the easiest to explain.