10/10, would attend this event. Would flirt with hot dudes from any kebab-producing region.

He was only 57? Damn, that means that he was 18 when I was born, and still so, so young when he wrote the soundtrack to our goddamn LIVES. Amazing.

I knew someone who was allergic to corn. CORN.

Simpler, and more correct, would be, “a married couple we know are expecting a child.”

If he would like to express his gratitude physically, I’m totally available for that. Just sayin’.

I mean, intellectually, I KNOW I don’t have to eat the free food.

Seriously. They should have had someone show up at their house and punch them in the back, lower abdomen, and buttocks for an hour each day.

All of y’all non-Californians bitching about avocado toast being popular, you have no legs on this one. I was raised on it and love it like only the food of your homeland can be loved. Just because some tweedy jerkoffs in NYC decided it’s “cool” now, whatevs. It was always cool. It was always delicious. Everyone else…

Truth. I like his foam metal hand thing, though.

E.T. screaming was fucking terrifying, especially to young children. Not making this up, I still to this day maintain a phobia of E.T.

I cannot but read this in an Australian accent. I bet he’s a gutless wondah, too, Muriel.

I’d prefer granola. Potato chips, maybe. Fritos are best by themselves, devoured in large handfuls, washed down with sugary sodas. Now that’s good death snacking.

I’d show him my narwhal costume. (Hint: It involves dildos)

I like slightly unripe bananas.

I came back from vegas with a stomach illness one time. I blamed it on the clam sauce, but in retrospect it was probably norovirus.

For my 13th birthday, my friends did what was standard at the time: They “kidnapped”me and took me to breakfast in my pajamas. Then I went home, got cleaned up and went to school like it wasn’t a thing. That night, I started hurling big time. Then the shits started. I was leaning over the toilet, retching, when a huge…

We’re all American-icans.

My BF knows I watch all of the murder shows. He says that when I do finally kill him for the insurance money, to not be an embarrassment by ignoring all of the good information contained therein: “Police your brass.”

It’s only sinful when *other* people do it.

My BF likes severe, minimal modern styles. I am more eclectic, but I generally want to live in something more cozy than a harshly lit shoebox. I also want a sort of campy, retro-futuristic kitchen, which he says is awful. But someday when we have a house, I’ll make him a stark white study with black and chrome…