If by swimmer’s body you mean one who swims mouth agape through infinite oceans of butterscotch pudding then yes, I have a swimmer’s body.
I believe the plural is “milves.”
Trees to oxygen:
“Pfft. Waste product.”
Yeah ok whatever, bassist. Stand over there being all tall and quiet and keeping the rhythm together. Just look at the drummer and exchange your little knowing glances like you know you want to.
I never go anywhere without a couple dozen shrimp in my pocket. They’re my ‘running around, doing whatever’ shrimp.
You do the load of laundry that you have, not the load of laundry that you want.
The fact that the overhead camera in front of my office is fake doesn’t stop me from giving it the finger on the way out every day.
Once I started pronouncing baseline like Vaseline things just really fell into place for me.
This is my daughter Amaranth, my son Sorghum, and our dog Millet. Sorry if the photo is a little — grainy.
Boom! Zing! This is free content!
Mix it up a little. Start answering calls from unrecognized phone numbers with an angry “If this is about the marmot again, I swear to God someone’s going to pay!”
Mix it up a little. Text a random phone number the following msg:
“The fat one won’t fit into the woodchipper. What do you want me to do?”
I wish Kristen from finance would tell us her husband was an “attorney” one more time so I could feel better about shitting in her purse.