I’m Marie Fucking Kondo and You Can Keep All Your Fucking Books, You Ingrates
When I said I personally liked having 30 books in my house, I meant it because that's what I like. It was a fucking suggestion, not a threat.
When I said I personally liked having 30 books in my house, I meant it because that's what I like. It was a fucking suggestion, not a threat.
When other people say, "Could you point me towards the restroom? Please hurry, I really have to go," we say, “Merry Christmas."
Drive down a country road, past a bucolic house with spectral corpses in the trees, and you’ll see this beautiful tiny home: 500 square feet of bliss.
Research the Community Parking Regulations: Beverly Hightower, the girl you’ve been in love with since sophomore year, is sitting on your train.
Our ailing bodies fall from the sky into your front yard and all you can muster is an idle comment about the beauty of our chlorophyll jaundice.
Yum, I hope that unfiltered tap water and internalized judgement from your mother tastes great!
You made it: to Southern Iowa, in an auction hall with chewing tobacco at each table, 25 second cousins running around in their cowboy boots.
Explore and investigate the strange scraping sounds, trap doors in the floor, and that creepy voice that keeps whispering your name late at night.
Listen to the language, Jeff. “Designated area,” ”gentle correction.” Is this our backyard or is this Auschwitz?
These mysterious eviction notices may be related to ectoplasm, as both are occasionally left behind following a paranormal experience.
Finally, I'll have sated my 200-year-old appetite, fulfilled a centuries-old curse, and your family's financial situation will stabilize.
Hal's Review: "About 13,000 people died there in the early 1900s, but you could hardly tell!"