Fool in the Rain.

I switch on the news again and an anchorman is standing knee-deep in water in a residential area, presumably dead cars parked along the curb s behind them. “This may look like a river, but’s not!” says the anchorman. “It’s a motherfucking STREET!” He doesn’t say the “motherfucking” part, but by the astonishment in his voice you can tell it’s implied.

Red, White and Brunch.

Because really, a love of the Constitution and the everyday American citizens and their gravy breasts are what shaped this country – and, really, isn’t that what politics is all about in the first place?

An Open Letter to My Creepy-Ass Neighbor.

I’m sure you heard the click-clacking of my high heels, which signaled to you that a.) there was a woman within 50 feet of your dwelling, and b.) that said woman would derive pleasure in being wolf-whistled at by someone who, measured by the spectrum of modern scientific advances, contradicts all known evidence of human evolution.

Voice of a Generation.

…but since we are young we must all be in cahoots, a plot to turn the world into our personal orgiastic playground, corrupting the arts with our goat music and making reality shows instead of curing lupus.

The Centre Cannot Hold.

I am on the patio of Colley Cantina waiting for Eric, who is fourteen minutes late. I decide that it’s my comeuppance for being habitually tardy myself – a pattern that I am often surprised to get away with – and read the lunch menu while keeping in mind the last time I met up [...]

Shore Thing.

ven with her proven track record of getting us pants-shittingly lost during every adventure in which we embark, Laura is chosen to drive because she photographs best in sunset.

Breast Friends.

I read that if your bra is a good fit, you have a smooth back under your bra strap. She appears to have no back fat poking out from her bra, which is a good sign, but Vicky is also 80 pounds, so I take that into conclusion also.

Flash Flood.

As I generally walk around at work not being jacked off to, this comes as such a surprise that I question whether it is happening at all. But he is in the office suite across the hall with his pants off and his tight white underwear down and he is pulling his nub back and forth, twisting it around.

Better Things.

… there I was, chatting with my three nearest and dearest about our thoughts on marshmallows when suddenly I realize that I am going to fucking puke.

Birthday Mirthday: Slumming 25.

{The Players.}
Laura – Le birthday bitch. Fetching belted dress. Properly bosomed. Known for her ability to drop the word “felch” in everyday conversation.

Molly -  The token wide-eyed lesbian who crushes on Robert Pattinson and beef jerky. Often wears a bandanna. She smells like new books and ranch dressing.

Soraia – The Portuguese [...]