I love the idea of Frankenstein applying for a research grant and having to admit he’s skipping the testing on mice and going directly for human trials.
“Welcome, Karen, to Pants On Fire!” the game show host says.
“Excited to be here!” I tell him.
The host eyes me. “Are you?”
My forced smile starts to break. Sweat beads drip down my face, and I swallow hard.
“Light up her pants, guys,” the host orders.
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Some people are just better left alone.
In a jacket, in a room with padded walls.
friends who just got married: We were kind of hoping you’d stick to the registry.
me *crestfallen*: you don’t like the jukebox of screams?
Twitter: your jokes suck
Instagram: your face sucks
Snapchat: your life sucks
Facebook: your family misses you and is also racist
The overspray from my windshield washer fluid just totaled a smart car.
I need some sun on this skin. I’m starting to look whiter than a Fleetwood Mac concert.
Lost in a corn maze? Light it on fire. Turn it into a popcorn maze. Eat your way out.
Therapist: You have passive aggressive issues.
Me (under my breath): says the woman who only listens to my troubles because I pay her.
I learn something new every day that I didn’t want to know.