I Am Actually Made of Money and My Existence Is Hell
You have six-pack abs? I have six-dollar abs. It’s six dollar bills.
You have six-pack abs? I have six-dollar abs. It’s six dollar bills.
The Gig options are: package deliverer, meal deliverer, startup online pharmacy deliverer, driver, and graphic designer (Masters’ Degree preferred).
I love how the natural light comes through the house. It gives whoever wants to break in a little sneak peek of what they’re missing you know?
A Ponzian Slip: This is when you misspeak because you are thinking more about swindling the person than the substance of the conversation.
I knew the moment Brad's Gucci loafer crossed the threshold of the antique store, that my time had run out.
Not only are my kitchen cabinets sticky and brown, but they contain condos for giant cockroaches who never pay HOA dues.
I’m here to tell you that for your upcoming, serious, life-threatening gallbladder removal surgery, you’re on your own, kiddo.
Think of all the times you said, "I wish I could provide for my family by working somewhere that played realistic thunderstorm sound effects every 17 minutes."
You might think I’m completely oblivious to the concept of shared social norms and values, and the fact is—you’re right.
Three tricycles, $170.00? What does a man need with three tricycles? I’ve never once seen him exercise!
Roy was always trying to make a quick buck. He had all the best schemes in high school, and he also never had any money when the bill came.
If you're like me, I imagine Melinda blindsided you with some out-of-no-where comment about how you’re “constantly projecting yourself onto other people.”