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.
I go through the 7 stages of grief just to get to work everyday.
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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!”
“HAVEN’T U SEEN TERMINATOR 2?”
“Should I vomit at 1am or 3am? Maybe both.”
Whoever has my voodoo doll must just be continuously feeding it.
Him: Why’s a pretty girl like you sitting all alone?
Me: I peed my pants.