I’m not some lame meme for TikTok. I’m a piece of art, dude. I live here! In a museum! Where do you live? A shared one-bedroom in Bushwick?
Fetsfermönee - The act of drafting a tweet about selling pictures of your feet, then deleting it because your mother follows you.
I cannot dangle a peach in front of your mouth---the mouth from which all law is spoken to life---as you recline in your chaise.
After a bit of soul searching, preceded by rather a lot of ayahuasca in a Christopher Street loft, I’ve decided to radically restructure my tours.
WW3: Climate change is getting a lot of heat right now. Pun intended! But no, we're not direct competitors.
Mein gott, his calves are whiter than the snowcapped peaks of the Swiss Alps. Achtung, baby!
That should say “eight million." I guess you could pay somebody to fix it or—wait, we do that for free, all for the cost of a cup of coffee, don’t we?
Steven, traveling solo, wants to post an Instagram of his ravioli. But Germany is 6 hours ahead, so he risks his picture bombing if he posts it now.
I caught your last prep school match against Groton, and let me be plain: you are a truly gifted combat juggler, a “once-in-a-century” talent.
I wanted to send an official cease and desist but my lawyer melted in 2016 so now I have to speak for myself.
I could tell he wasn’t like our past professors. There was a glimmer in his eye, a look that seemed to say: “I have had adventures with horses.”
Quitticisim (kwit-??siz?m): The paralyzing decision to either delete or refresh Twitter every thirty seconds.