Pretty much. Zombie hordes perfectly manipulate a viewer’s feelings of paranoia, claustrophobia, and/or impotence—and depiction as a global or otherwise widespread event removes the normal psychological safe-harbors like ambivalence towards a protagonist’s motivation (“I would never try to dig up a suspected vampire”)…

This has the skeleton of a story like To Serve Man: at the end, somebody reads the guy’s business card, and his name is Edmund Waffle. The audience gasps, Rod Serling chastises us over somesuch, cut to commercial.

“Marry me. [fart]”

batter orgasm

Totally nailed the frontside fakie bigspin to tailblock slide, but without the fisheye lens, it lacks a certain something.

“When I move, you move.”
“Just like that.”

I am caught in the Apple Trapple with regards to every other piece of technology in our home, and that’s a tough hill to climb; that said, I hate my current cell service/costs to the extent that this looks like a very reasonable alternative, and the new iPhones look largely meh. I am extremely torn and am explicitly…

[elbows through line at county clerk’s office] Uh yeah I’m here to register myself as a church?

Pretty much anything I’d want to say requires a clap emoji between each word so I’ll just leave it at this: we don’t ask the night sky why there aren’t more shooting stars; instead, we gasp and exult in a moment that may have been shared with millions, but remains ours alone to cherish.

69 Occasions: the most optimistic category of Hallmark greeting cards.

If you’re going hoarding, go newspapers: they bring the garbage to you.

It’s been a minute since I was in the online dating game, and I was an OKCupid-er up to and including the time I met my wife (it works!), but is there really such a gender disparity in initiating contact? I look(ed) like a honey-baked ham fell into a dime store lumberjack costume, but the balance of messages in to…

Luckily, the book’s tone improves with regards to the horrors of World War II:

This is an incredibly savage own. My condolences to the surviving family and friends.

You mean the Skene’s gland that drains into the urethra?

Did you actually read the article you posted? Prostate-specific antigen ends up in fluid coming out of women only after a reported period of female ejaculation, but somehow it’s all just pee? That’s not “only pee” by any stretch of the imagination. Not to mention the complete lack of contextual data regarding…

I find it precious thinking that women cannot conceivably have non-urine liquid come out of their urethras, and yet the overwhelming majority of men have non-urine liquid coming out of their urethras as a primary life goal.

I think about Nicki Minaj twice before doing anything online. My productivity has dwindled to zero and my carpal tunnel has flared up again.

I, for one, would rather not live in a world where first-hand reviews of things are expected to consider other people’s experiences with those same things.

Counterpoint: strollers are fantastic at all times. Beyond their obvious use as moving child straightjackets, the real magic of strollers is in rolling storage. If I want to bring anything other than a pack of gum and a few stalks of grass to Disneyland, that requires a bag—cumbersome, easily forgotten/misplaced, and…