The war on Christmas goes well. We found an elf stronghold & cut off its candy cane supply lines. Last night, they ate Donner.
Technically, it’s only cannibalism if you eat the top half of the mermaid, your honour.
The world is my oyster. Expensive and gross.
One thing books from 100 years ago teach us is that if you leave a baby in the jungle, it’ll be fine. Better than fine, actually.
Telling a woman to get back in the kitchen is a weird insult to lob on Twitter. We can still tweet from kitchens. We have wifi & data plans.
None for me. I’ll eat when I’m dead
“You don’t understand how that saying works, do you?”
I’ll understand how the saying works when I’m dead
It’s six. Six raccoons. Six raccoons is the amount of raccoons that will make me turn around and walk down a different street. Six.
“Go to hell” is so abstract. “Get trapped in a porta potty for 67 months.” Now that’s specific. That’s possible. That’s terrifying.
“Arise! Arise! Foul creatures, I command that you arise! ARISE!”
“Dad, just once, couldn’t you let mom or the alarm clock wake us?”