I have a chaste, bookish boy crush on her. I just want to go to the library with her in the summertime, and read all the books at an oak table in the air-conditioned quiet, and then ride bikes home for supper.

Muskrat Love by The Captain and Tenille was ART.

Or Jackie Jormp Jormp. Even rawrer.

I’ve never noticed how beautiful her eyes are.

I HAVE SEEN A LOT OF HAIR AND HER HAIR IS AWFULLY SHINY FOR SOMEONE WHO IS BEING ABUSED JUST SAYING.

She’s an Amy Schumer writer/hanger-on of late. I’ve noticed her on Amy’s show a couple of times.

Also, most importantly, his butt looks really dumpy and sad here.

But it only comes in Whiskey Tortoise. Judy is too much of an Autumn for Whiskey Tortoise.

We have a wireless doorbell at our studio at work, and when it rings, I croon, “WHOOOO is it?” but nobody gets the reference. You can come sit by me. Just don’t touch my tape dispenser.

“Coro-”

“It’s the plumber. He’s come to fix the sink.”

I can now spell things in Braille on the back of my arm. Things = novellas, or middling manifestos.

“... and I skip past her tweet.”

Reading Yoko in Tweet Beat is like reading Family Circus on the comics page, or reading your horoscope. Sometimes it makes you think of something accidentally borderline profound, and if you miss it, you’re a lesser person.

Now I want some pumpernickel. Toasted. With orange marmalade.

It’s almost too perfect that one of the top comments in an article about Taylor Swift’s life is about white bread.

This is definitely the Blandest Timeline.

Ugh, Benny Hinn. He's purely evil.

...Jan? Is that you?