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In 1960 at our Annual Goat Blood-A-Palooza & Family Fun Day, we saw a vision of you, the chosen one. We’ve been trying to sabotage you ever since.
For four years we've turned a blind eye to the despicable actions Trump has taken. It's time we focus the discussion squarely on him for once.
Each time, I smugly think to myself, “I’m right on this time.” I am not right on. Not ever. It always seems to be further back than I think.
“Chris,” I said, as a family of five wiped their shoes on his face. “What’re you doing here?” “Muhughuh,” he said, spitting out a piece of dogshit.
I feel like you’ve been kind of distant lately. Hanging out with those new fancy ass moisturizers and toners you bought on sale at Sephora.
The smell is totally normal. Nothing’s leaking. A lot of boats smell like this. It could be all the eggs I’ve been eating lately.
Many, many months into quarantine, I’d like to ask, how are you? I am also obligated to wonder, how is your mental and physical health?
Googly-eyed octopus behind catcher’s mound: Campaign manager for a commemorative Beanie Baby with a nascent political streak.
I spend most of my time trying to escape the room so I don’t have to listen, but the door is always closed.
You can imagine what my relief will be when I go under for my final rest, a sleep from which I’ll never wake up disappointed.
Let’s band together like the professional basketball players and astronauts we want to be and save the world. Listen up, I got a game plan here.
Unfortunately, even if I found the perfect pair of running shoes and I was the fastest man in the world, I wouldn’t be able to outrun the truth.