Hell | Page 10 | Points in Case

Tag: Hell

I started out as just an idealistic kid with nothing more than ambition, determination, and the portfolio of Fortune 500 clients my father gave me.

I caught him watching old episodes of Scooby-Doo and scribbling in a notebook. He was mumbling things like, “Oooh, that’s a good one to plagiarize.”

Most of the rubes don’t figure out it’s a cover until the vocals come in, at which point everyone cheers like an idiot and I let out a huge scoff.

Steal an intern’s idea and get a promotion for it? Buy them a piece of jewelry. The “hang loose” attitude of the puka shell never goes out of style.

You know what it looks like. It’s the same tank top I wear every time we get together to defeat an age-old evil or combat a monstrous hellion.

Ma’am, you’ll have to speak up. War is really gearing up for tomorrow’s grand finale, and his machines are pretty loud.

Now you’re suspended on a wall of shard glass as rabid monkeys devour your intestines and Dave Matthews’ 2002 album “Busted Stuff” blasts on repeat.

Have any special skills? Call those “in your wheelhouse”--it shows you love baseball but are also serious. Don't have special skills? Doesn’t matter.

This is going to hell in a hand-job! / What in masturbation?! / Fallopian out loud! / No shit, short-cock.

Surely you can tell by the creases under my eyes and the lingering scent of nitroglycerin that I’ve had a rough one.

Is there a changing area? I was thinking of wearing my cycling gear for the riding events because of the butt padding—makes my thighs look amazing.

Our relationship was mutually beneficial: I gave him a son—Yngvar—and he told me my dress wasn’t “too Coachella.”