Having sex with me is sort of like moshing at a Fugazi show. I’m all: “Can you please not do that? Do I have to call Security?”
So, this was in my head on and off all weekend.
My local variant included “Aunt Jemima’s dirty feet.” Maybe we were racist?
My Saturday nights have quickly gone from Here Come the Warm Jets to Discreet Music.
I was told that there are only two ways to punch a pony to death, but I think I just discovered a third. Thanks, crystal meth!
My kid’s postcard says there’s a lot of “rapping in the showers” at camp. Either times have changed or his spelling is as bad as ever.
My kid’s got ADD so we’re thinking about sending her to one of those concentration camps?