Damn the Principal, the Kids Must See My Short Film
And no matter what you, other teachers, or the PTA may say, this has nothing to do with my film's complete rejection from festivals nationwide.
And no matter what you, other teachers, or the PTA may say, this has nothing to do with my film's complete rejection from festivals nationwide.
#121: Don't bother. I found a tombstone with your name on it that said, "they died doing what they loved: poking rattlesnakes with a stick."
Time to get these shoes and socks off, settle in, and make myself at home. The air helps my feet breathe.
I'm looking forward to when boob sweat makes its annual migration toward those hapless people in the southern hemisphere.
When it's time to go, what name are you calling to summon your little snugglebuddy home for the night? a. Felix? b. Rover? c. Straggles?
It’s not like I expected you to use me every meal. You can’t have basil all the time, I get it. I’ll be here when you need me, I said.
The customer is always right, unless they contradict an utterance bequeathed by the orbs.
Okay, now we're starting to get mad. What kind of civilized person puts items in their shopping cart and just leaves them there?
Of this you are sure: a. All that glitters is gold b. All the apples in this bushel will make delicious cider for us to enjoy around the fireplace
The Phillie Phanatic can phuck off.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Class had started, but half the students wouldn’t show up until 13:10.
Here they come—the very few remaining loved ones that will still attend this charade. There’s Grandpa Ernie, wearing his pajamas.