The publishing world has always had a bias against writers who have never actually written anything.
My Family Is Going to Be So Surprised When I Jump Out of This Paper Refuse Bag Today, Yard Waste Collection Day
If I were a guessing man, I'd guess I was in the back of an actual garbage truck.
I’m checking out your fine-ass certifications, baby, and damn you’re proficient.
I can’t and I can’t even. Whatever phrase works best for you to understand that I can’t help you.
How can someone from Nebraska not want to talk about football, like, at all?
Q. Should I worry about the fact that people keep disappearing after using the elevator? A. I wouldn't.
A demon with the head of a hamburger and the sash of an alderman materialized in my backseat. Flaps of hormone-infused beef formed his accursed lips.
I didn’t go to Tisch so I could buy cocaine for a lemur. Plus, lemurs need three times as much snow to get going.
My kids like the Beatles. How am I supposed to criticize them for their garbage taste if they are also brought to tears by "Happiness is a Warm Gun?"
New arrivals to Limbo will receive brand-new iPhones that only show Instagram posts from people who have ascended to Heaven.
I don’t think I’m selling myself short here. It takes a lot of skill to stack this many hats on top of each other.
First, it’s important that you accept the fact that some things in life cannot be changed.