Thirty years ago, Jurassic Park gave me hope I might live long enough to see resurrected dinosaurs. The clock’s ticking.
The danger of me asking why people don’t like Taylor Swift’s new boyfriend is that someone might tell me.
Your neighbor is a sleeper agent, but not from one of the serious countries.
Now that the coronation is over, perhaps King Charles will respond to my proposal for a noble quest.
So many flashing lights and alarms on the new refrigerator. I think it might be a first responder.
I’d like a word with the person who started the rumor that I have a kitchen.
Today, I want to talk about petting a cat with wet hands and why that’s no good for your hands or the cat.
Two ill-tempered people return from a fractious trip to the grocery store, driving through an Old Testament downpour, and neither having changed the battery in the garage door opener.
Your prospects for a pleasant day are excellent because they have absorbed all the anger in…
Monogrammed towels are good for when you know how to spell your last name but sometimes get stumped on the first letter
[holstering a comically oversized mallet]
I’m a firm believer in the healing power of cartoon violence.
Someone you know may commit a crime today. If carefully managed, you can add in some of your own stuff.
These days, I just want a manageable sandwich. Nothing that requires strategy.
Our house is too small for a proper hallway. We pretend, though, and give directions like “it’s in the bedroom down the hall.”
The best sandwich I ever had was roast beef and brie at the Museum of Natural History cafe. It’s a memory that gets me through the tough sandwiches.
At the zoo, you have to drag me away from the otter pool. The promise of a soft pretzel usually does it.