A Conversation with Saint Peter
At the edge of the entrance to Heaven, Frank stops for a casual chat with the always engaging Saint Peter, keeper of the gates and god of the pranks.
At the edge of the entrance to Heaven, Frank stops for a casual chat with the always engaging Saint Peter, keeper of the gates and god of the pranks.
I would gladly exercise if it weren't for my burning hatred of physical activity, compounded by the wretchedness of the fitness club environment.
On the first day of class, I was brimming with excitement. I woke up at ten o’clock and started running around my house trying to stir up some enthusiasm for morning cocktails.
Portrayal of the Great British public in American media has improved lately. So when I see one of my countrymen letting the side down, it makes me want to club them over the head.
"Hey, David," I say to the cashier manning the register at my all-time favorite gas station. I have a soft spot for gas stations for two reasons: nonjudgment and proximity.
When the Miami Heat lost the NBA Championship, a sigh of relief went out in 49 states. You see, most of America learned to resent all things LeBron James in just one year's time.
I was the center of elevator attention and not in the best way. The doors opened on 17 and everyone--and I mean everyone--got out. I slumped to the floor.
My friend Todd went out with a big girl. When I say big, I don't mean fat, I mean AMAZONIAN. This is the story of their first and only awkward hookup.
Brooke and I had just finished a spectacular recess. I pulled her hair. She threw rocks at me. It was magical. Then came what will forever be known as 'The Naptime Fiasco.'
As I exit the school I hear laughter and it reminds me of a time when we were full of promise and ambition. A time when we were invincible and nothing could bring us down.
A secret Hawaiian beach shortcut quickly goes downhill from swimsuit model paradise to coastal jagged rock hell, where making it out with open flesh wounds and dozens of crab bites is a win.
There are two things keeping my boxer Tessa and I from having that perfect fairytale family. One: she is neurotic, and two: I'm a horrible dog-mommy.