A parade of slow walkers meander behind my car as I’m trying to pull out of the parking space.
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Walmart is always a good place to see someone in the process of hitting their child.
People are less likely to keep pinching your fries off your plate if you stab their hand with your fork.
it’s giving duvet, it’s quiltcore, if the vibe was sleepy time she’s serving honk shoooo honk shoooo
What about “BusinessMyspace”? Nah, it’s taken. Okay, what about “LinkedIn”?
That scene in Home Alone where they count their kids but this time there’s one extra, so they sacrifice him
I act really tough for a person who spent $40 on cookies I dont like because a girl scout was crying
Damn he played himself
YouTuber: Yo what’s up it’s your boy
Me: *astonished whisper* Son?
Boy, Peter Parker is lucky he was bitten by a spider and not one of those fainting goats.
Learn cursive, they said. You’ll need it your whole life, they said.
Ha
My phone autocorrected “people” to “pricks” because my phone knows all of you
I just heard the phrase “murdered to death” and wondered if there’s any other option
Adulthood is getting your shit together but then forgetting where you kept it.
There’s no sticker warning me not to eat this box of nails so I guess I’ll just go for it.
Adding “family” to words sucks out all the fun: Vacation? Family vacation. Car? Family car. Movie? Family movie. Affair? Family affair.
How I begin all my work emails: I hope you’re doing okay during this very difficult time of being away from me.
IT guy: Your keyboard won’t work because it’s full of crumbs.
Me: *flashes back to eating Nature Valley granola bar at desk* Weird.
I think most “Emergeny Exit Only – Alarm Will Sound” doors are bluffing, but I’m too much of a coward to find out.
HOLD YOUR HORSES. TELL YOUR HORSES YOU LOVE THEM. DONT BE TOO STRICT WITH YOUR HORSES OR THEY’LL DATE OLDER HORSES GET TATTOOS & HAVE PONIES
Alan Rickman lost in the woods, leaving a trail of perfectly pronounced words
ME: I’m allergic to suggestions.
FRIEND: You should get that checked out.
ME: *swelling up like a balloon* You’re not the boss of me.
Weird how all salons are closed on Sundays, yet if you can convincingly fake a heart attack, paramedics will shave your chest-hair for free.
Boss: How were your weekends?
Steve: I coached my son’s soccer team
Alice: I helped friends move and volunteered at an animal shelter
Me: I dreamed my clothes were made of peanut butter and jelly
I’d expect Captain America to be fatter.
‘Pardon my French’ -People who you would never pardon and who don’t know any French
I love it when someone texts “come on, your a smart girl” in a condescending manner and totally misses the irony of it. I am smart, but you’re* not.
Ultimately, I’m not sure what marriage signifies, if anything. Legally I guess it means something, for wills or whatever. But “spiritually?” It’s just some words, a ritual, no more or less sacred than a high five after a touchdown. But I digress. You may now kiss the bride.
My apologies in advance as I present to you: Matilda Swinton