Despite a Shockingly Low Number of Applicants, You Somehow Did Not Get This Residency
If there was ever a year for you to slip through and get this relatively prestigious residency, it would have been this one.
If there was ever a year for you to slip through and get this relatively prestigious residency, it would have been this one.
While on the outside I look like I spent a past life as a lava lamp, my insides are as square as an actuary’s lunch box.
"What gives? Let's get fro-yo and drop a piano on him Looney Tunes-style."
I understand that this neighborhood has changed in recent years, and to some, my frontage looks “ironically shambolic” or “intentionally distressed.”
People I trusted to think through issues started quoting slogans I didn’t understand. “The dead are better off remaining dead,” they would say.
“Everything must come to an end.” Did I just tell you I’m dying, or that I finished The Legend of Zelda?
Millennials and Gen Z don’t understand how valuable a sense of camaraderie is, or how important mistress time is.
Finally. A gender for men. Man 2 isn’t your GRANDMOTHER’S GENDER. Or your grandfather’s, strictly speaking.
Looking around, all I see are duds. In the sandbox, I see toddlers who don’t even know how to use their own feet.
The wool fibers prefer an east-to-west cross-breeze coming from a north- and south-facing window.
I’ve been told that the back of my head is so soft, it's like those $10 holiday blankets you get at Target.
Laugh and caw with your favorite Real Seagulls as they whisk newcomer Jenny to Miami for a caliente seawater bender.