I Want to Kill My Cell Phone
I want to feed my cell phone to an alligator without causing the alligator any digestive issues.
I want to feed my cell phone to an alligator without causing the alligator any digestive issues.
Podcasting: In your 2 AM hunt for distraction, you stumble on a fun fact. Did you know that platypuses are blue and green under ultraviolet light?
Looking around, all I see are duds. In the sandbox, I see toddlers who don’t even know how to use their own feet.
“The ABCs” isn’t even a good name. I don’t really see the draw.
Thanks to you and the Magical Musical Mat™, every minute of my life is now a beeping, squawking, nonstop honking nightmare.
Some write to live out a fantasy that they were never granted: revenge on Frankie Wick, who pantsed them in Ms. Dakota’s class in the 9th grade.
Dorothy Hamill, for inspiring the bowl cut my mom gave me from ages 6-12.
I give you that quick dopamine rush that makes you feel like your life is actually in your own control.
As you run your fingers over my spine, you think: “This is it. This is the year I get my shit together.”
Am I not a multi-million dollar painting too? I’m tired of listening to tour guides only talk about Starry Night.
The irony is that your mushroom superfood promises me more energy, which I wish I had now, so I could resist ordering it.
When Bob Ross painted you, he always put the trees in front of you. Don't wonder why.