Your family has a long legacy of murderers, and you hoped to marry one yourself. You envisioned a picture-perfect life as a convicted murderer’s wife.
“It’s been a long time since I burst into tears because a publishing house didn’t get its jacket copy before deadline.”
The doors and windows are all open and the room is empty except for a puddle of water under the body. How can this be?
If you’ve timed it right, you will be dead before you hit the floor. Your death will look like that of a hero defending the store from a shoplifter.
Paying for that improv class. Paying for single-payer healthcare. Getting back together with Jeff. Convincing Jeff to come to your improv show.
The men and women in my family took to snitching. My grandfather was known as the Irish Elvis because he would sing to the cops about anything.
A stolen bomb squad dog to sniff out the aliens. (They probably smell kind of like TNT.) Your grandmama Ellis’ necklace, so you can be buried with it.
As I’ve come down with a bad case of wet-ass this summer (medical condition), Marcus could easily catch me and force me to share the bicycle.
"We have orders from the city to remove that thing from your property. Effective immediately.” He pointed toward the Inflatable Wacky Tube Man.
Mayor Pete is a former Navy officer, a Harvard grad, and speaks 7 foreign languages. However, as the owner of a Ford dealership on State Route 15.
Knowing that I did my part to separate a four-year-old from his mother with no plan or intent to reunite them, I can nod off shortly after vomiting.
How do you think the Andersons feel when I deliver their photos, and half of them are so overexposed that you can’t see the barn they’re leaning on?