What if those years embroiled in a sadistic old bat’s cruel ploy to take revenge could be avoided by setting deranged convicts loose in your youth?
- Who Really Needs Charging, Me or My Case? The Ongoing Enigma - For the Love of All That is Holy, Please, Clean Me
- An important work of literature is being discussed. You have not read it. - You are mostly silent.
- Loving Big Brother: Why the Government Should Be Spying on Us More - This is a Flammable Stack of Paper
Be steadfast and remember always that we need much less than we think we need.
When it’s my turn to choose the book and I pick a trashy romance novel, no members can audibly sigh or give off any sense of smug superiority.
All you have to do is have one true hiding place. Find the truest hiding place you know.
‘Twas something of a bloodbath, all told, but was this not what thou asked for? Well, Happy Father’s Day.
Take a breath and listen to the brag of the dust mites—I am, I am, I am. But you want them to be not.
Grab a vegan smoothie, plunge your feet into a bucket of ice, and allow yourself, like an eager guppy, to be reeled in by Tim Ferriss.
J. M. Coetzee: A boy who may or may not be Jesus battles racist zombies. Jean-Paul Sartre: Lucifer tricks a man into ordering a bad batch of escargots.
Charlotte’s Web: After reading this pathetic book, I threw it from the top of the Duomo, where it landed upon and killed a Political Realist.