I go through the 7 stages of grief just to get to work everyday.

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Digging through a box in the closet, I found a picture of me sitting on Santa’s lap. Hard to believe that was almost a year ago.


The pen is mightier than the sword. Also, parking a car in someone’s living room sends a pretty damn clear message too.


Ghost: GET OUT

Me: Or what?

Ghost: I’ll close a cupboard loudly and tip over a cup. I have all the powers of a three year-old that has access to a ladder


when the news anchor says “if you know anything about the crime please contact police”
dont call the police and re-tell the news story


Relationship status: I tried to blow a kiss but it wants to just be friends


God: I shall call this a tiger

Me: *scratching ‘angry fire zebra’ off my sheet* yeah cool whatever


[An old thermometer breaks scattering mercury beads all over the floor]

“Get out of here, NOW!”




Whoever has my voodoo doll must just be continuously feeding it.


[at bar]
Him: Why’s a pretty girl like you sitting all alone?
Me: I peed my pants.