We had something planned for this week, I swear. It involved cashews. And a dead relative coming back to haunt someone. And then… then… Hell broke loose. Literally. Turns out an intern had chained up Hell in our basement, right next to the sink everyone’s afraid to touch because, by all accounts, it’s never been […]
Where no one knows your name it’s a little easier to own up to having spilled that beer at the end of the counter.
He could simply go home, wash the cheese particles out of his hair… err, head, discard his clothes, and jump in the truck and just start driving.
No one wants to shake your hand when you’ve got goo all over it. No one.
A little ditty from the depths of our hearts. Collective, which is the reason for the plural hearts. We weren’t born with two (or more) hearts, you know.