You don’t get to be the president of anything if you have bad manners.
If we adopted Jack,” I quip, “we’d have to give him combat pay for an allowance
Consider this a one-thousand horsepower divorce, sweetheart
How come they get to be gray-haired and still in love with each other, while Lilly tears out what’s left of my heart and dumps it into her Jill-The-Ripper shredder?
You said you left Mississippi in 1854,” Ron says. He turns to Mamuwalde and asks “Were you a runaway slave?” “Not at all,” Cindy Lou answers. “Daddy freed him.” Ron’s jaw almost hits the floor. His wine glass does.
My turner Mah’Lor is with me forever as well. At least his head is.
Since I can’t turn into a bat and fly, I’ll still need my bus pass
I hate it when I go into a Snack Shack and they’re out of Blue Ice. The other slushie flavors taste like cheap candy.
I floor the gas pedal. The Sonoramic Commando V-8 growls like an angry tiger and leapfrogs us ahead of the traffic.
Centuries of perfectly-pitched heartbreak resound through Les’ microphone as Stella and I embrace in a slow dance.