I’m the Safety Tag on a Baby Product and, Yeah, I’m Going to Kill Your Baby
CAUTION: I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again. You’re probably thinking: “Why would a soft, soft teddy bear kill a baby?"
CAUTION: I’ve killed before and I’ll kill again. You’re probably thinking: “Why would a soft, soft teddy bear kill a baby?"
“Christopher Columbus” sees players arriving at someone else's pool, murdering those swimmers, and then claiming that the pool now belongs to them.
I know your coach said it doesn’t matter if you win or lose. Your coach has obviously never been up to his asshole in debt for betting on collegiate air hockey.
Mother say I need to stop moping around cave and get outside. So come up with a plan.
It is May 10, 2008. I am nine years old. I purchase the book Frindle from Hastings Entertainment Store. My mind grows fat off its teachings.
You'd never know that it is an alive organism, save for the occasional dampness and an appropriate amount of mold that forms on the sleeves.
Because the romance author who wrote your story didn’t quite know how to end their book.
After running out of per diem, your child will unwisely accept financial help from their Russian pen pal.
You're eleven, and first thing's first: everybody is going to be super impressed that you, an eleven-year-old, are already reading Hemingway.
Conclave: Based on the summary that my childless friend gave while dropping off a tray of lasagna, I found this story unnecessarily hard to follow.
Buckle in for the getaway of your dreams. A luxurious solo spin in your very own 2009 Honda Civic.
No one warned me about grappling hook elbow after the age of 25--now my physical therapist owns a foreclosed volcano lair thanks to it.