Creative Writing and Masturbation Have a Lot in Common
I wouldn't dare call myself an expert in creative writing. But I can tell you with no trepidation that I am in fact an expert in masturbation, and I mean that in the purest sense.
I wouldn't dare call myself an expert in creative writing. But I can tell you with no trepidation that I am in fact an expert in masturbation, and I mean that in the purest sense.
PRO: Never want for a pen ever again. It's like they come with a kit! CON: Endure unforgivably vicious emotional damage. Artists are will viciously tear your heart out.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Levitt, There are a few things that I did that could easily be misconstrued by you as inappropriate and I just wanted to clear them up so there is no animosity between us.
Do you know why romantic comedies are an hour and forty minutes? Because that's the longest amount of time you can entertain the notion that eternal love is an achievable prospect.
Used schoolgirl underwear vending machines happen to be all the rage in Japan right now, and the USA must capitalize on its lethargy to fill this panty-hungry Japanese demand.
Looks like it's politics as unusual as possible for the GOP Debate Team. Test your exotic knowledge of Michele Bachmann, Rick Perry, and more.
I received my original Netflix apology email with a dozen roses in my high school locker and I swear I smelled Abercrombie & Fitch's Fierce on it. Now Netflix wants to ditch me to go to back to school?!
Somewhere between the sidewalks and the elevator or the floor of a taxi or your walk-in closet, the white snow is converted into what can be best described as a dog shit margarita.
The person who warns you that their car is a 'total mess' before you get in it, rarely has a messy car. And then there's the person who says nothing about the condition of their car before you climb in...
I'm not that smart. I could walk you through jail-breaking your iPhone. I could even tell you why the Soviet Union lost the Cold War. But I have no capacity for math.
I want to walk in during a Cubs game and scream at the top of my lungs, holding up my giant sign: 'I Don't Like Sports.' But I can't even muster up that much energy to hate sports.
This fluid I was supposed to be using to clean myself made me look like I had just gotten into a fistfight with a family of polar bears. This couldn't be right...