I'm just like all of you, only more so.
Imagine the inspiration were archaeologists to unearth a tarnished newsletter.
44 of 44 sentences were about The Real World. Aim for a gazelle or large carnivore.
Any girls wanna smoke. 34m San Francisco.
What with the megadrought, it sounds like Alex's frozen corpse and Moby's desiccated one can have a tits-up tete-a-tete.
Can we take a moment to talk about the headset mics? Because I totally remember watching Eric Kandel speak and thinking, "If only he were more like Janet Jackson."
I remember when Fairuza Balk was horribly maimed trying to get over that barrier.
I know Paramore entirely through their cover of "Stuck on You." I am happy that I'm not the only person who remembers Failure. That the other four people who remember Failure are all younger and prettier than I am makes me feel less gratified. Here endeth the entirety of my thoughts about Paramore.
I spent 17 hours trying to get my car registered in NYC due to the simple, elegant fact that my hyphenated last name is so long, it gets truncated at different points depending on the form I've filled out. At one point, I went outside, stared at Horace Greeley, and screamed "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SO SMUG ABOUT?!!" before my girlfriend force-fed me bibimbap and xanax.
@Myrtle I don't care what that Mister Orbach did, your father and I made you those eyes.