A Mid-Life Crisis in the Middle Ages
I no longer wish to ride an aging plow horse. And yet, when I ride to the horse dealer and request a sleek, red mustang, I am met with ridicule.
I no longer wish to ride an aging plow horse. And yet, when I ride to the horse dealer and request a sleek, red mustang, I am met with ridicule.
If spotted, DO NOT CHASE. Instead, acknowledge his beauty, respectfully. Obviously all dogs are beautiful, but he’s a stunner.
Instead of opening and deleting messages as he received them, User #119182 has kept every email he has received since creating his account in 2009.
My shadow grows long on the playa, striking fear into the hearts of those who dare utter “Missy Elliot is kinda mid.”
Good news—lantern stuff is done. Borrowed John’s (as in Larkin's) geriatric horse and am headed to Concord now.
Remember the opening scene from "The Dark Knight"? That was one of ours.
Mother say I need to stop moping around cave and get outside. So come up with a plan.
“This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. He’s from America.” “Not just America, actually. I’m from Chicago.”
But no one really knows what they want when they’re hiring, and that’s why there’s me. To get rid of people like you. Quality people.
Periodically you might encounter your double. Do not engage, especially for sex.
Jump to conclusions why don’t you? I did not lock her in a basement. I’m not a monster. We live in a tower.
Our value option, the Chuckle Tier, includes smirks, knowing smiles, and obligatory chortles at the wisecracks of uncles.