I’ve survived finals, the flu and Seasonal Affective Disorder Madness Night. I need some movies.
Amusement park safety standards in the ‘40s left something to be desired.
“I’m going to go through all of the stages of grief, but not in the right order,” A warned me as we went in to see Hillary Clinton. “So good luck.”
Most of her waking thoughts are devoted to “How can we see a beluga?”
It’s just flour and water and onions and magic.
There’s regular crazy and then there’s succulent crazy.
Dad whispered, “Did you bring the ponchos?”