Some were missing limbs, that one unfortunate soul was facially charred and the rest had their hair or tiny plastic noses shorn off. It was basically a Barbie concentration camp. How do you see that from your child and not ask a few pressing questions?
Who, that you sat around with smoking weed, watching Conan and eating Oreo cookies, will become successful — famous even? Who will fade away never to be heard from again?
I can’t look away from her shining, beautiful face. I’m chalking this up to her being — maybe not my type — but humanity’s type.
We rip apart young people for not working hard enough or not having jobs and then we rip them apart again for working hard and having jobs. How dare this generation not support themselves immediately out of college! How dare they ask their parents for money! How dare they have massive student loans! Wait, what? A young girl has a well-paying job and acknowledges her debt? BURN HER, FOR SHE IS A WITCH.
Transform into a bat and flap away into the night.
Even in the dark, you are the constellations in the black sky, the campfire in the woods, the firefly against the glass of the mason jar.
So fine. I bail. I get half-way through the marathon or whatever metaphor you want to use, and then, I take off.
Talking to a teenager is like trying to rationalize with someone drunk off tequila — they’re these terrifying bundles of rowdy emotion and they can not be controlled or confronted with logic.
If humanity had a family crest, do you know what would be on it? Pizza.
You could have snapped your fingers between the time it took for us to admit our feelings for each other and the time I started leaving clothing at his place. More instant than your coffee. Bam! Dating! Very seriously!