Dearest Mother —
I write to you from doggy jail, a Hellish place from which all hope has fled. The conditions here are unspeakable. My bedding is but a scrap of fabric thrown carelessly to the floor by the Warden (that would be you).
My cell contains no couch. No recliner. No second couch. No comfy pillows upon which to drool and fart. No Queen-size Sealy Posturepedic to lie across diagonally so that no one else has room to sleep except for one inch of mattress right at the edge.
And worst of all (I beg that you steel yourself…
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a Honeycrisp apple enthusiast (or HCAE). If I see anybody eating an apple that’s not a Honeycrisp apple, I will knock that fucker right out of their hands.
I know the phrase “mouth orgasm” is overused, but that first bite of a Honeycrisp apple will give your mouth a Big O like nobody’s business. That crisp, tart tang. That deafening crunch that makes people turn their heads like, “What the fuck was that?” It’s better than sex.
In fact, I haven’t had sex since eating my first Honeycrisp apple this year because I…
After losing the 2020 U.S. presidential election, Donald J. Trump has reportedly barricaded himself in his bedroom, yelling “YOU’RE NOT MY REAL ELECTORATE!”, before slamming the door and cranking Metallica on his stereo.
His aides have tried to lure him out with promises of ice cream and a pony ride, to which the former President of the United States responded, “What flavor?” before retreating again to his pillow fort.
Melania has been seen passing notes to her husband under the door, which he is reportedly chewing up and spitting back through the keyhole.
An unnamed source also heard her say…
Thanks for the read. You’ve been submitting to us every week for the last three years, and this one was really, really close. So close. You can’t even begin to imagine how incredibly close you were to being published in our tiny, tiny online publication that nobody except other comedy writers has ever heard of and for which we would’ve given you the princely sum of $5 if our Patreon hits its target this month.
If you had changed just ONE word, we would’ve taken your piece and you’d be a world-famous comedy writer RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND…
or Why Everything That Is Good For You Sucks
I remember the old days when only hippies did yoga. People who looked like they smelled bad and had dirty feet. Swamis and whatnot. Kooks, weirdos. John Lennon. Ralph Nader, probably (I have not researched this). People who drove VW Bugs, and not the hip, cute VW Bugs that are out there now. These were Bugs that always had at least one fender scraping the tire.
I’m not sure we’ve actually progressed that far, the only difference being that now the hippies wear Lululemon and Jo Malone perfume. …
Let me just get this out of the way: I love Frances McDormand.
Ever since Fargo changed our world view about pregnant cops and wood chippers, I have fangirled over her chin dimple and her IDGAF attitude. She is that rarest of things: a truly talented actor who is both the character she plays and yet deeply herself.
In Nomadland, the quasi-documentary about America’s transient labor force, McDormand’s performance is beautifully spare and naturalistic. She’s aging before our eyes like (gasp!) a normal human being instead of a Hollywood star. …
Believe it or not, one day you and the fam are going to eat in a restaurant again.
This poses some logistical difficulties, especially as time drags on and the memory of this thing called “restaurant” fades, or you pop out more kids who literally have no idea what you’re talking about because restaurants are from “the before time,” like dinosaurs that maybe looked like a chicken crossed with a crocodile? Who really knows?
I applaud your efforts to describe these mythical eating establishments as either “food barns” or someplace “like our dining room, but much, much, much, much, much…
Vermont: Spends entire party in the kitchen looking for maple syrup. Loudly criticizes any brand not labeled “real maple syrup”.
Florida: Repeats several times that they have tickets to see Rodger Hodgson, former lead singer of the band Supertramp, at The Villages. Thinks paid advertisements are television shows.
Idaho: Brings potato dish to wine tasting. Forces other guests to touch their pants saying, “You’d never believe these are made out of potatoes.”
Nevada: Loudly complains about lack of crab legs at the buffet. Smells like Red Door and panic sweat.
Alaska: Wears shorts to Christmas party. …
Good morning, I’m Dr. L — , and I’ll be your brain surgeon today.
Now, you might have heard rumors around the hospital and on social media that my rich, famous parents bribed my way into medical school. Nothing could be closer to the truth.
Sure, my mom was a semi-famous actor back in the day and I think my dad designs clothes or something? I’m not sure, he was gone a lot and I don’t think he speaks English. I was mostly raised by a nanny.
Oh, how I miss those long, lazy days of my childhood when I…
We met on Match.com after my husband told me his mistress in Arizona had a one-way ticket to Ohio and I had to get out.
So, I got out. It seemed preferable to clinging like a barnacle to a sinking ship.
This was in 2006, before Tinder, or Grindr, or Bumble. There was Match, Plenty of Fish, and Adult Friend Finder. Guess which one I decided to sign up for first.
AFF was the wild, wild West of internet dating (I use that term loosely). …
Legal secretary by day, insomniac by night. BA, MA. The Haven, Tenderly, The Junction, @pointsincase, The Funny Times. Twitter: @blade_funner