I Am Your Super-Thin, Yellowing, Old Bed Pillow—Please Put Me Out of My Misery
Me, a sweat-stained, yellowing bed pillow. You, a 42-year-old single man that clearly hasn't lived with a woman since moving out of his mom’s place.
Me, a sweat-stained, yellowing bed pillow. You, a 42-year-old single man that clearly hasn't lived with a woman since moving out of his mom’s place.
Ok, so it looks like they’re depicting the many scourges man has brought upon this Earth.
We at Pirate’s Landing Funeral Home take a human-first approach to plannin’ a swashbucklin’ goodbye.
I know I’ve been closed off my entire life, but, I don’t know, there’s something about right now that just makes me want to bare my soul to you.
I think about how life could have been easier if I’d just stayed the course and resisted certain… urges.
Judicial combat is a seminal moment and, with a record of 22-0 (humans) and 1-1 (trumpeter swan, with rematch), you’ve come to the right person for advice!
My metaphysical hands are tied. It’s up to the collective hearts and minds of all that have been, that are, and that have yet to be.
After an extensive journey of self-learning which some have called a “downward spiral,” it is obvious this agony is a rare inoperable cystic cancer.
If you pat me on the back, I’d prefer to feel like it’s because I earned it.
Say… you there, clinging to the railing for dear life: would you like to hear some facts about jazz?
Remember: if our competitors are not fined out of existence, then your friends and neighbors died for nothing.
We are strongly discouraging any food vloggers, frat bros, or any self-proclaimed "spice fiends" from coming to Tony’s Tavern (off I-85, exit 17).