Every day I go to work and draw a little tick on everyone who didn’t say goodbye to me the day before.
No, I don’t like nature. I can’t respect anything that would so flippantly turn dinosaurs into birds.
Drinking at home is convenient, sure, but it’s nothing like the experience of leaving the pub feeling fifty bucks lighter.
I love the idea of a fruitarian, just morally affronted that anyone could eat a baby spinach.
My diorama of the Three Little Pigs mise-en-scéne was overshadowed by my sister’s master’s degree. I’m not mad, but I’ll probably cancel the show.
Someone asked me if I’d choose potatoes over cake. Buddy I’d choose potatoes over democracy.
Are dinosaurs finished evolving into birds yet? Or will they become even birdier?