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I want to get an Impala just so I can call it Vlad.
me, to boychild: yo mamma so sweet, I'd marry her all over. boychild: [eyeroll]
If have to do the math to see if something's "worth it," it's probably not.
Me: wind is god, farting. Boychild: no, it's god sighing at that joke.
I think my third eye needs Visine.
Fact: parents acquire tastes on order to keep from sharing with offspring. I'm up to 80+% cocoa in my chocolate by now.
At National Archives. Saw original Constitution et al. Got choked up. Where has my cynicism gone?
I'd call my autobiography "About the Author." Then I'd have an "about the author" bit at the end, saying "did you pay attention at all?"
The first cliché of the day is the sweetest.
Girlchild: you're never too old for a tantrum.
Or, better: I might have photographic memory, but I think I'm using the wrong chemicals in my darkroom.
I have photographic memory, but no darkroom.
Is it time for Easter egg baseball yet?
wonderwife, in spite of all her sophistication, is not beyond the occasional pun. earlier today: I left my harp in Sam Clam's disco.
Me: how was the dance. Boychild: fun, because there were no parents to tell us how cute we are.
Hey, you taxonomy bigots, what if a spider wants to self-identify as an insect?
the crappiest song you've ever heard: someone thought it was worth rehearsing (and, probably, depending on where you heard it recording).
The Winter Olympics are teaching me that I can't tell the difference between a 16- and a 26-year-old.
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