Dad came into my bedroom at 10 AM today with the Post, turned to page 16, and there was my byline and my winning entry – just as I wrote it, except the typesetter had fucked up the end the end of the story.
I don’t really care what the New York Post says about me . . . it’s better to be talked about negatively than not at all.
Personally I think she was confusing highly celebrated degree programs with the local cannabis club, but of course, I cannot be sure.
“Experiencing 100 orgasms a day may sound like the gift that keeps on giving, but a heartbroken man from Wisconsin can assure you — it’s much more of a curse.”
Even though your grandparents have been very vocal supporters of abortion, it looks like they’re not going to abort you.
7. Issuing a moratorium on the word “abuzz.”
Apparently, The Post required not one, but the combined efforts of two journalists to write this hackneyed and generally useless 459-word article, which centers around the school I attended for the first 18 years of my life, Horace Mann
I recently got to know her on a much more intimate level in reading her memoir, The Last of the Live Nude Girls. In it, she chronicles the two years she spent dancing in Time Square’s infamous peepshows – a vocation that has, up until now, remained undocumented from an insider’s perspective. I met Sheila at a seedy bar of mutual acclaim to discuss stripping, dating, and what comes next.
In other words, our innocent love of cats is fucking up the environment more than some of our man-made machines. “[Kitties] are like gypsy moths and kudzu – they cause major ecological disruption,” said Dr. Peter Marra of the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute.
The question of who Dupre is and how she wound up a prostitute does not, in the end, seem difficult to answer: She was a resourceful babe who wanted money and was capable of making cruddy decisions. This describes a lot of people.