Happy Thxgiving You Nerds!
Okay we get it, people of facebook. Saying, "Happy Turkey Day" instead of "Happy Thanksgiving" doesn't make you any more unique than the last guy you got the idea from.
Is this where I write something to make you fall in love with me? My name is Vernon Carter Ross. I'm in Iowa now for school. Ugh. Praise for Vernon Ross: James Danowitz of the Chicago Sun-Times hails, "Vernon Ross is a master of his generation. The wit at which he plays with is cunning and deeply moving. If I could buy happiness I would legally adopt him as my son." Oh stop it, James. You're making me blush.
Okay we get it, people of facebook. Saying, "Happy Turkey Day" instead of "Happy Thanksgiving" doesn't make you any more unique than the last guy you got the idea from.
I have my headphones in, but I really hope beyond hope that she's not interested in this guy. Of all the guys in the world, she had to pick this one. Sadness.
No man in the history of manness wants to admit, freely, to crying. It's just not done. Dudes That Wear Ed Hardy would rather be sent to prison for something they didn't do than admit they have emotions.
My apartment is dark, just the way I like it. It is very vampyric and that says a lot because I so love True Blood.
I visited the library today and as I was checking out a book, my eyes caught a glimpse of the guy's name tag and I proceeded to do a double-take. It said "Chilly Heinz."
She extends her hand to shake and we do. We start some idle chitchat, me extolling jokes like none other. I'm trying to be slick and maybe it's working but maybe it's not. She's still smiling.
I dreamt that Hollywood--and I could only assume that Michael Bay would have been directing--was coming out with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sequel entitled "Guacamole."
<p>6:30 in the morning is when my alarm viciously chirps me awake. The shower. It is warm. Hallelujah. It is 60 degrees outside as I open the door and step out into the light. My bus station is only a few short steps from my house. I am the first to arrive at the stop but not for long.
I was listening to Backstreet Boys' earlier material and I realized that they talk a lot about "love" and "giving it" and "to the girl" and "not living without said girl." What? Not even her backstory and history?!
"Hey, David," I say to the cashier manning the register at my all-time favorite gas station. I have a soft spot for gas stations for two reasons: nonjudgment and proximity.
I was writing an email to my aunt today, begging her to guest star in a story on this wonderful blog of mine. The problem came when I thought the adjective of humor was "humorfull."
When my British friends started making jokes about the BBC original like, "Allo, Guvna" and "crumpets" I was at a loss. It was like I was at sea, drifting slowly, gasping for breath as the cold hands of Poseidon tried to take me down.