An Open Letter to the Adult Man in Target Who Decided He Didn’t Want Keebler’s Coconut Dreams
As I picked up the box of cookies, I imagined a world where everyone thought it was okay to leave items they didn’t want anymore wherever they please.
As I picked up the box of cookies, I imagined a world where everyone thought it was okay to leave items they didn’t want anymore wherever they please.
It is true: I stabbed every balloon on the showroom floor and likened it to Steve stabbing me in the back when he left me for the dweebs at DreamTeamz LLC.
If that’s not bad enough, the elk start head-butting each other out of sheer horniness for all to see. It’s like living in a frat house.
He's always asleep during both sunrise and sunset, so he's never seen one before. Doesn't get what the big deal is.
Now I know smart car person phrases like, “you can tell the water pump is going out when you press the radio button and water squirts out.”
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.
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.