I reached my biblical allotment of three score and ten. I am, as St. Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians, “playing with house money.”
I scrolled through Twitter and saw a few Forrest Gump references. Why? And then the storm hit: A text from my mom, “Tom Hanks has coronavirus.”
Looking like the way a six-year-old might try to draw a sports car? Quirky! The sound system that consisted of maybe two buttons total? Great
I am a swim coach for kids. That’s right, I spend my shifts in a cesspool of germs and boogers.
Some evil Freudian wiring has kept my sister and I at the mercy of the same celebrities and, even worse, absolute hunks in our daily lives.
Time is money. Time flies. And therefore, the bus driver flies. Though side roads, through shortcuts, through worryingly narrow gaps.
Maybe you’ve returned to your normal life and are back at work, arriving to a ghost town at 10 AM, taking a two-hour lunch, and leaving by 3 PM.
The Multi-Millionaire: They have it all. The husband, the mansion, the coke addiction. What could you, their friend in low places, get them?
Our eldest son, who fancies himself an art dealer of dick pics, has found his avocation stuffing pimentos into green olives. Someone's gotta do it.
Zoboomers love to slip in hip cool slang like “fire,” “drip,” and “lit” to help better blend themselves in with the younger generation.
Have you ever been out shopping and you try on a super-cute top and it gets stuck and you look like you’re wearing a nun costume?
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all conversations are not created equal; that some are boring as hell and a complete waste of time.