Every year we live in fear of predatory rent hikes by turkey vulture-owned management companies.
The residences you’ll pass along the way, while not precisely identical, are nonetheless completely indistinguishable.
Put it on this coat rack, where all of my coats are. Is that because I regularly put my coats on the coat rack, rather than strewing them on the floor?
And your little ghost friends? They can’t spend the night. All of you swirling around in a big circle above the roof.
We’ll enforce basic duel-to-death etiquette, which basically seems to mean making sure one party dies (Hamilton is available on Disney+, by the way).
I feel like such an idiot. How many times did I tell myself, “make sure you turn off the lights, lock the front door, and put out the grease fire."
I cannot help but feel like the law is on the side of the cold-blooded decapods of this world who travel willy-nilly from shell to shell.
In this instance, the coyote was blasted through said wall following a violent explosion of his own devising.
Ope, watch your head there. Cam likes to go in feet-first, but I prefer lying on my side and sliding in with my hands like a walrus.
Install a shower in there so he’s not hogging your family’s only bathroom while you sleep. His hair is always getting clogged in the drain.
How lucky are we to have a youngly Master of Business Administration as land-lord! Thou hast every right to levy rents from my labour.
- Several Loose Flashlights - One Omni-Seasonal Jack-O-Lantern