Carl the goldfish has been giving you a look. The same one your last Tinder date gave right before stealing your hoodie, your good frying pan, and the dignity you keep in the sock drawer. Something is rotten in the kingdom of plastic seaweed. Goldfish are not the dim little water hamsters the pet store…
Squatting in a foreclosed McMansion is the closest a broke person gets to inheriting money from a rich uncle they invented. The bank stopped caring. The previous owner fled to Scottsdale to “find himself,” which is rich-guy for snorting a timeshare. Now it’s four thousand square feet of someone else’s bad decisions. Welcome home, you…
There are nine signs your mechanic is a horse in a human costume, and you have ignored every single one of them. That weird guy at the shop isn’t “quirky.” He isn’t “old school.” He’s a 1,200-pound prey animal in a Dickies jumpsuit who learned the word “alternator” and decided that was enough. You let…
Smelling like cheap bourbon before lunch is a lifestyle, and lifestyles require alibis. The bad news is that everyone’s nose works. The good news is that everyone’s nose is also stupid and easily lied to. What you need is a believable excuse for smelling like cheap bourbon, delivered with the confidence of a man who…
Dentures and a heavy night out have never been friends. Somewhere past the fourth pint, your teeth quietly develop ambitions of their own. A loose denture and eight lagers is not a partnership. It is a hostage situation, and the hostage is winning. You were never consulted on the itinerary. They will leave. The only…
There is a specific man. You have met him. He stood too close at a wedding and told you, unprompted, what his watch “appreciates at.” He does not own clothes. He owns evidence. Every garment on his body is People’s Exhibit A in the ongoing trial of whether he is doing okay. He would like…