Your phone rings while you are engaged in a harrowing game of Words With Friends and the guy watching your dog tells you that a category one hurricane named Irene is headed to the east coast.
Smith, verb, meaning to be born and buried simultaneously.
Cloud Nine is on a stretch of highway where God tests the piety and the patience of idle Americans.
You are to call me every few months to have a sentimental phone conversation that leads to sex and a marathon conversation about getting back together unless, you call and I don’t answer which is code for I’m seeing someone new.
The day they took my mother from me she had just enough time to turn her beak to me and say, “We all die someday. Do me a favor and stop being such a pussy.”