Bob Dylan’s Internal Monologue the Day He Wrote “Wigwam”
The song’s not even that long. Like 25 lines tops. This shouldn’t be that hard. Why is it so hard?
The song’s not even that long. Like 25 lines tops. This shouldn’t be that hard. Why is it so hard?
I’m here to tell you that for your upcoming, serious, life-threatening gallbladder removal surgery, you’re on your own, kiddo.
The lack of children being born is not due to Millennials having less sex, but rather the funky little houseplants known as spider plants.
Grab brunch with friends, but only half-listen to what they’re saying. Something about a "drinking problem" and "ruining Stacy's wedding."
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."
9:15 AM – Bad news. No Bread. When I try to talk to Barry, manager Kyle swat at me and call me mean names like “noisy ass pidgeon.”
I became a bowling alley screen animation because damn it, I love this sport and I love being a part of it.
I used to have 30-45 people in me at once and not a bit of noise bothered the neighbors. Hey! That’s another thing: I’m very noise-proof!
At this annoying cafe every day is your birthday. Imagine singing waiters serving every course to the tune of “Happy Birthday” at full volume.
We’ll utilize sense memory to translate your theater experiences of gossiping, backstabbing, and “stage crushing” into the workplace.
Add a few gentle affirmations like, “I will enjoy this cupcake,” “I’m taking a moment to eat this cupcake,” or “I will show this cupcake no mercy.”
As great as this gig has been, it’s time to move on. Send me anywhere. Please. I’m your gal.