“Well, this is me,” I say climbing into a plant so that we’re no longer walking in the same direction after saying goodbye

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Best Buy: What’s your street name? Me: FUNK MASTER FERG bia bia! Best Buy: No, the name of your street.


[scene: a smoky Paris bar]
BARTENDER: You feel trapped, mais oui? You hunt the rabbit, but the rabbit, he mocks you. Always you are made to play the fool, in a cycle you cannot escape.
FUDD: *nodding bleakly* I’m suffewing, Henwi.


“It’s okay, little buddy. Mommy cries when her bottle is empty, too.”


HORSE: *walks up to the bar*

ME [THE BARTENDER] : So, *raises an eyebrow* why the long face ?

HORSE: Oh *removes Nic Cage mask* Sorry


*at a restaurant, eating burgers*

Me: “I don’t take condiments well.”

Friend: “Don’t you mean compliments?”

Me: *already covered head-to-toe in ketchup*


Fill the piñata with goat intestines to teach children about the brutal consequences of violence.


I’ve never really found myself “in a pickle,” but it sounds quite jarring.