I clench my butt cheeks tightly and strut past an elderly couple, pulling on the front of a cart, sweeping it alongside my body.
Three tricycles, $170.00? What does a man need with three tricycles? I’ve never once seen him exercise!
Is the desolate fucking melancholy setting in yet? That was a rhetorical question. Sorry. I need a new job.
What I Plan to Do This Weekend, Knowing a 23-Ton Piece of Space Debris Is Expected to Crash Randomly into the Planet
I will still go to the farmer’s market, but I will definitely be glancing at the sky and looking for anything that looks like it might crash into me.
There is a powerful part of me that needs, for just one night a year, some very specific, humiliating things from an outlaw rebel ghost.
Here is my main concern: What if I wear something really ugly the day I die?
There is no need to fixate on future problems before they arise by preemptively discussing a plan for an emergency situation which may never occur.
The grocery store is like a math classroom come to life. This fact is true even as the global food supply chain crumbles.
If someone had asked me before I found her who Amelia Earhart was, I would have asked “Who?” unsuspiciously.
The reality: You wouldn’t guess that gasoline is more precious than blood in the Southern Wastes with how long these rats were on that engine block.
NAME: Sisyphus DEPARTMENT: Underworld; Futile Labor/Endless Toil and Frustration POSITION: Boulder Administrator/Rock Coordinator
My motivation was killed by me throwing my phone out the window when my alarm went off for the fifth time and I didn’t want to get up for a run.