It was more rot than ripen. Or perhaps rot then ripen.
What? No, not our future. I mean, I love you dear reader, like a rhetorical device, you mean a quantifiable amount to me. 638 more words
Hey, my hard-drive crashed, have a little leniency. I know, dear reader, to be without Jack is a torment, the withdrawals from ever erratic prose is unendurable, the missing maunderings gnaw at your very soul, you can’t just smoke that Jacky Tobacy and all will be well, no no, you need me with a working computer, which is thankfully what I have again. 1,262 more words
One of my favorite things as a child was eating raw cookie dough. Whether that was licking the bowl when making cookies from scratch or eating it out of the tube at a sleep over. 394 more words
Hey, that title might be boring, but it’s better than: You Can’t Eat A Bed-pan, right? Now, before I begin, I already have? Oh, well, anyway, this isn’t a strict guide, it’s more of a recap of what I did that worked when I was in for my abdominoplasty. 1,558 more words