Dude-Bro in Coma Since 1998 Wants to “Get Jiggy With It”
Talk to the hand! The Zima is chilling on ice, Matchbox Twenty is in the CD player, and Trevor’s all sexy up in here with his puka shell necklace on.
Talk to the hand! The Zima is chilling on ice, Matchbox Twenty is in the CD player, and Trevor’s all sexy up in here with his puka shell necklace on.
“I’d suggest you go read the piece to understand the way you’re being pretty irresponsible about Current Social Issue.” My boss was ashamed.
What’s that word? Apathy? I was apathy, bro. No, wait, empathy. I was empathy. My bad ha!
Find a project, be passionate about it, let it consume you until you have no time or energy for sex with your wife.
Explore and investigate the strange scraping sounds, trap doors in the floor, and that creepy voice that keeps whispering your name late at night.
Um, I don't know why anyone but Tim Cook is still reading this, but you should probably bottle up your excitement...
If he’s willing to stand behind his declaration of love for your “sweet ass,” then odds are that he’ll also be into a committed relationship.
So rarely is a short fiction necessary, but in times like these, reading pieces such as this truly massages my mimblelaxy.
With all due respect, let me tell you what an actual emergency is: when Rose’s necklace went missing and they blamed poor Jack for stealing it.
Two ghosts are ready to make a move to the city, will they find an eternal haunt?
Fake News say it bad thing that me want Bavaria to be good neighbor of Transylvania. Say Dracula sadistic bloodsucking despot.
A Jack-o'-Polyamory-Pamphlets: Nothing says, "we’re leaving each other," like joining separate sex cults.