“I’m writing you up. You and your whole Starbuck’s Coffee klatch-rock are finished. Bend over.” “But why, man?” “Because I care.” “Agggggggggggggggggggggggh.”
Hey, Republican leadership, just because the liberal media is out to get you doesn’t mean you’re not the sorriest collection of the undead since Dark Shadows.
Seventeen guitars were smashed at the first show. By the time the band broke up, he had smashed 700 guitars, most of them donated, all but the first, stolen.
Puking on the subway would be amazing. Everyone would be forced to endure the putrid stink of your throw-up until the next stop. There’s nothing they could do.
Job: Write a fluffed-up article about The Lollipop Kids, the colorful munchkins of the magazine biz, and the trials and tribulations they’ve experienced.
I am a small fat troll of an old lady who enjoys waddling down subway platforms in front of educated, good-looking, productive, and adjective-obsessed young men.
Samantha could have toppled skyscrapers and Jeannie could have short-fused rockets faster than June Cleaver served Wonder Bread fluffernutters, yet neither did.