this bacon wrapped sausage is making me feel uncomfortable.
him: what are you writing?
me: an epic romantic novel.
him: nice! what’s it called?
actually, my grandfather died in a pumpkin spice mine, but you go ahead; enjoy your murder latte.
her: ma’am, can I help you?
me: I’m just waitin for church
her: for what? ma’am are…
*produce sprinkler turns on*
me: shh! It’s time, lettuce spray.
her: [bows head respectfully]
1969: i bet in 50 yrs, we’ll have a colony on Mars, & flying cars.
when i was a little girl, grocery carts were free range; you’d see them all over town, in ditches, ponds; free.
now, they’re locked in chain gangs, selling themselves for quarters. sad.
[a blind date]
me: you look disappointed?
him: your text said you model…
me: autocorrect must’ve changed it; i don’t model, i yodel. hey where are you going, should i just order for you?
beer bottle: if you break me? you get 1 year of bad luck.
mirror: aww, that’s cute. break me? you’ll get 7 years of bad luck!
condom: *walks away laughing*