The Diary of Elon Musk’s Space Mannequin
It was Lonny (that's what we called Elon) who pulled me from that dead-end mannequin job and gave me an opportunity to attend SpaceX Academy.
It was Lonny (that's what we called Elon) who pulled me from that dead-end mannequin job and gave me an opportunity to attend SpaceX Academy.
I saw my own reflection on the screen of my computer and I was reminded of the oath I took when I accepted this job at Uber.
While I am from California and a girl, I did not grow up inhaling the sea breeze, or riding shotgun in the red Jeep of a blonde guy named Chad.
There's only two types of surfers: braindead fuckheads, and guys who have checking accounts. Now, split up accordingly everyone.
The same folks who tailgate, casually cut you off, and pass you on the shoulder now face no longer being able to terrorize fellow drivers.
It's no wonder you stayed hidden from me all these years: you portray a real person better than anyone I've ever seen.
Prepare to drink an entire gallon of gas, run around a race track 50 times screaming "KA-CHOW!" and resist transforming into a car.
I have the world's best memory, so when I woke up this morning and couldn't find my car keys anywhere, I knew Crooked Hillary was to blame.
Hello to everyone out there in cyberspace, it's me, Brock Yeager, international daredevil extraordinaire with more crazy, death-defying stunts!
As part of white collar drug treatment program, baristas serve liquid methadone lattes on G train. Every other Thursday, system-wide Backwards Day.
Go ahead and smile, because that's how you operate the remote keyless entry. No one wants to see resting bitch face. There it is. There's our pretty lady. Step inside.
It was three tragic hit and runs that took my father away from us. And if my dad was killed by three cars, shouldn't Cars 3 be able to bring him back?