The kids are tired, the air is cold, and we’re way too far away from our starting point.
I never dreamed he’d play such a pivotal role in my home, but here he is.
They’re my song inspirations and my entire captive studio audience.
This kid is made of steel. He’s like a Batman villain.
Everyone’s jonesing for that hit of the S’mores. It’s like a town full of Wimpys, promising, “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a Snickerdoodle today.”
It’s like getting abducted by a UFO. You went into this awful experience with an absurdly difficult and disgusting task. Next thing you know, it’s 45 minutes later and you’re sitting on the floor finished, with no recollection of how you got there or what you did.
He did his usual strut across the front lawn on both his legs – even the crooked one that appeared ready to snap in half.
I want to give lectures about what I was forced to call meals as a child and how we don’t get to choose what we want to eat. But, alas, I’m tired. So I plop the Eggos in the toaster and everyone enjoys their morning.
The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
Don’t tell me what cool is. I know what cool is.