An Open Letter to Whomever is Opening My Letters
Who the heck owns a letter opener anymore? I’ll tell you who: people like me, looking for socially acceptable ways to always have a knife nearby.
Who the heck owns a letter opener anymore? I’ll tell you who: people like me, looking for socially acceptable ways to always have a knife nearby.
It rains all the time and sometimes floods, but it’s never awful, so it wouldn’t surprise me if our Heavenly Father said this purely to make a fuss.
A Jack-o'-Polyamory-Pamphlets: Nothing says, "we’re leaving each other," like joining separate sex cults.
I thought that I was the king of murders that helped me achieve a sense of fulfillment, but it turns out I’m actually the king of awkward.
And before you ask, you disgusting skid mark, yes, we’re sifting our dry ingredients before combining. We weren’t raised by fucking mole people.
You’re talking to the guy who read a few passages from Aristotle’s “Poetics,” but also read the Wikipedia summary several times.
My wife and I love experiencing the unfamiliar, like state-sanctioned killings, nationwide poverty, or kooky cheeses.
Hamlet: Literally The Lion King without any of the lions, any of Africa, any majestic rock, or any Nathan Lane.
And sure, the judge may say this is all “outside the scope of the trial”---but who are you gonna listen to? Me, or this fuckin' alien judge?
There are three distinct rivers in New York summers: the Hudson, the East, and the one continuously flowing down into your ass crack.
If I get cream cheese on my nose, don’t dare lick it off, for The Lord Your Dog is a jealous Dog when cream cheese is nigh, and whipped cream too.
Mickey, it might be the time to dust off those wizard skills and bring your friend back to life.