I’m in pretty decent shape for a dude who was in a serious car accident and spent the last six weeks recovering in a hospital bed. That didn’t happen to me–it’s just a good yardstick for the kind of shape I’m in.
girl in novel: hi my older brother who is 17 years old and popular, do you want breakfast ?
her brother: yes, remember when mom died when you were 4 and our dad is an alcoholic ?
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I just want to be fit enough to reach into my glove compartment, without crying.
*watches an extremely cute guy flirt with an equally cute girl at the gym from the floor above like an old witch on a mountain*
[my car launching off cliff]
oh no google maps you rascal
BLADDER: Get up. You need to go
STOMACH: And you’re hungry
BRAIN: Imagine if Hammer Time was a real time zone. We’d have to move there
I have been reporting moms on Facebook who brag about how perfect their lives are as fake news.
ME: whose dog are you
DOG: I’M YOUR DOG I’M YOUR DOG YES YES YES TWIRL TWIRL
ME: whose cat are you
CAT: Possession is a solipsistic paradigm, Vivian. However, if I were to define myself as belonging to anyone, it would be myself. In this essay, I will DON’T TOUCH MY STOMACH
This might be the funniest tweet ever
90 years from now, they’ll sing songs about the courage and bravery you displayed during the great “Instagram Selling Your Photos” skirmish.
[Walking thru a dark alley late at night]
Thug: This is an arm robbery!
Me: Don’t u mean “armed” robbery?
Thug: *takes out chainsaw* Nope