Explaining to my wife that she should induce labor now so our son will be the first kid named Cybertruck.
Sure, I have a talent for shirking, but it’s not like I didn’t have to work at it too.
Not many talk about it anymore, ever since they dropped the sport as “not Olympic enough,” “undignified and stupid,” and “Who the hell let him in here again?” but I was proud to represent the US at the ’56 Winter Games in Men’s Pillow-Fighting.
You know how when you pack, you’re supposed to use your socks and underwear to take advantage of any small spaces left amid the pants and shoes and jackets and etc.? That’s my strategy with after-dinner snacks.
I believe that there is a radio station called WPMN, Worst Possible Music Network, and they are always playing it in the locker room at my gym.
Feeling a little guilty about looking for a new laptop on my laptop.
They must have gotten it to go.
I knew she’d be trouble the minute she walked into my office, stumbled, knocked over the hat rack, then somehow got her feet entangled in my trench coat and, arms whirling like propellers as she tried to stay upright, sent my bourbon bottle flying, which spilled and ignited, then
I knew she’d be trouble the minute she walked into my office, stumbled, knocked over the hat rack, then somehow got her feet entangled in my trench coat and, arms whirling like propellers as she tried to stay upright, sent my bourbon bottle flying, which spilled and ignited, then
Fair warning. People who underestimated me in the past have seldom learned of their error!
Me, writing: I must get the description of this wrought-iron fence that I remember from my childhood exactly right, down to the bumps and bubbles in the many coats of paint., no matter how long it takes.
Me, editing: *deletes three pages of description; inserts “a fence”*
The partisan media is ONCE AGAIN twisting my words, so let me make this perfectly clear: I am NOT a little teapot. The video clips being circulating showing me stamping my feet and repeatedly insisting that I AM a little teapot have been taken out of context.
Have my doubts about this “smart water,” considering how easily it’s captured and bottled.
There is nothing like the sound of a child’s laughter to remind you that your apartment is haunted.
If somebody at a party tells you they’re a writer, get excited, hold up the nearest book, and ask, wide-eyed, “DID YOU WRITE THIS?”