I don't see why we can’t continue to to do sex even though I’ve terminated our Facebook friendship. After all, it’s called "friends with benefits," not "Facebook friends with benefits."
Dear Broadway.com, sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a serious problem. Every time I Google the phrase “Wicked dubstep” I just get a bunch of awesome dubstep songs.
Get lots of bad press for golf, bad, but you’d spend most of your time golfing too if you were trying to distract yourself from everyone’s problems.
Fans are always writing me with the same question: “Liza, I’ve always wanted to travel the world and live an adventurous life like you do on your blog, but how do I do it?”
Are you ready to get spooked? Have you ever even HEARD of a scarecrow in the submarine?!
It takes 35 minutes to prepare but deconstructs the dinner party in mere seconds, allowing you to restore the cultural and economic sanctity of your home forever.
Just when the Facebook notifications about all your friends laying eggs finally slow to a trickle, here come the fucking baby pics of gelatinous larvae.
I didn't choose to be transported to a pre-historic age, but I did choose to become the teacher of the cavemen and women once I got there. No Neanderthal left behind!
Amount: $40 Message: "Marketing fees associated with me blogging about this date." Rationale: He’s a weirdo, and weirdos need to be blogged about.
"You really think you deserve to destroy America after a test like that? My father and grandfather are rolling in their graves right now at the thought."
I didn't come all the way from England and finally get my own HBO program only to rant about an orange devil destroying our planet each week. I came to talk about guinea pigs.
Just last Thursday I was entertaining over 50,000 guests at my bi-weekly “Salute to Bear Traps,” which was meant to be just a fun, casual, and accident-free celebration. Oops.