Letter to My Littering Neighbor
My initial shock and disbelief quickly dissolved into anger. I knew what I was supposed to do—not litter—but where was the commercial that taught you how to deal with litterers?
My initial shock and disbelief quickly dissolved into anger. I knew what I was supposed to do—not litter—but where was the commercial that taught you how to deal with litterers?
It was Christmas Eve on Twitter when I tweeted, "I drink Starbucks coffee because when you're single, you forget the taste of butthole." And I immediately attracted the attention of one man.
Bumping into an ex you haven't seen or spoken to for ages is one of those embarrassing moments that happens to both sexes. And it's always worse if the ex is with their new partner.
As I stood in the woods digging the hole to bury the old man, I realized he wasn't quite dead. And that's when he told me a story of Christmas I'll never forget.
Until moving to San Francisco, I had spent nearly my entire life in Indiana. Hours after arriving, I went to the place that exemplifies the extremes of SF like nowhere else: Upper Haight Street.
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.