You can enjoy them during a black tie affair or during Sunday football.
Certain memories unhinge a particular power; a vehicle for feeling something in your bones that you previously felt a long time ago.
I’m not even kidding when I say that many of you are basically eating donuts all day.
You can only catch a yawn from someone that you like. (The same is true for sneezes.)
If humanity had a family crest, do you know what would be on it? Pizza.
What the hell is this golf-ball-sized fruit-filled thing doing on my plate, and why does it look like it’s dressed up to go to Cinderella’s ball? Am I supposed to eat it or am I supposed to put it in an expensive glass box and place it on a mantle?