Doctors have diagnosed me with “early onset droopy ass syndrome,” contracted from getting your butt whooped too many times and is also irreversible
You can Airbnb your crib to other infants and sleep in your playpen. Make sure to charge them for the blanket, the mobile, and the cleaning fee.
2. At your nephew’s bar mitzvah, Rupert “reluctantly” agrees to sing “Escape (the Piña Colada Song)” for the guests. What describes what happens next:
Lìllèbaby? Big Freedia? Baby Tear$? Is it a French rapper? Or a needlessly complicated baby carrier?
I hadn’t worked a case in a month and was hitting the sauce hard. It’s a gloopy brown sauce from a can of beef chunks--part of yesterday’s breakfast.
All I need is for Bezos to read my kids a bedtime story and I will be up for the 2018 award for disconnected dad of the year.
I didn’t know that a first date at a restaurant was inferior to slipping on ice in your heels and falling into the arms of your high school ex.
You’re probably taking a hard look at yourself, reeling with guilt at the thought of all the poor, innocent, mother mosquitos you’ve smooshed.
When you die, it won’t likely be a bunch of vultures or a serial killer who see you last. It will be me, your friendly neighborhood mortician.
Suddenly, I recall a woman—lovely, virile—a gal very active for her age. Did we meet in a bookstore? Or was it an antique shop?
Skylark Diner sucks you in like a black hole and you can't even see the Texas-size soup dumplings over at Xiao Lone Star Bao.
Sip a Mai Tai every time you fantasize about escaping to a beach somewhere where the alt-right will never find you.