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Here’s a thought: My body could be cut up into little chunks the size of cocktail wieners and doled out to a number of sciences.
OK, I'm just going to address that you've been sort of frozen and scared ever since I said Jeffrey Dahmer is my brother. I get it.
Our whole supply chain is wrecked: the price of a getaway car is sky high and gas costs for said car are now at an astronomical level.
Winkler Field in Saratoga: I’m sorry I repeatedly yelled, “I want that kid checked for steroids, he’s a steroid junkie” after a player hit a double.
My job sucks. Why did I think working at a bar next to a port on a western bay that serves a hundred ships a day would be a good idea?
In the eyes of a dog, I am nothing less than an eternal being existing beyond the constraints of matter and time. So where's my treat for being a good boy?
Pro tip: bring a parasol to reduce the glare on your laptop screen when you’re checking Outlook for five minutes, just one more email, OK babe?
I only have dry toast. Hope you like millet bread. I’ll just cut the mold off, and we’ll be good to go.
I was telling the other toddlers about how if they ever plan to retire, they’ll need real dough, not Play-Doh.
Some things just can’t be fixed with free waffle fries.
In this instance, the coyote was blasted through said wall following a violent explosion of his own devising.
The kind of stuff that happens on the mirror is exactly the kind of stuff I deal with every day.