“You want me to WHAT?” I’d spit an entire chocolate chip cookie back onto my plate to keep from choking.
You're reading Funny
Tooth Thief
I told you, she doesn’t eat the teeth.
Sense & Sentimentality
“You’d think, once you’d hit twenty-eight, you’d stop being a pain in the ass…”
Times Sir?
Rain. Driving, pouring, numbing, tiring rain. Rain that did not freshen the heart of flower or tree, for neither were to be seen amid the cobblestoned thoroughfares of the great city. Rain that could not wash away the unconquerable coal dust that affixed itself to every surface, but rather smeared and shifted its sooty patterns, as a finger would play with pastels. Rain that drummed its ceaseless rhythm onto carriage tops, bonnets, and umbrellas that chose to brave the elements on a cold London morning.
A Taste of Someone’s Home
The air was crisp. Leaves crunched under his feet as he walked up the downtown of a small midwestern town. He stopped in front of a little shop—the one he told his partner to meet him at. To his knowledge, this town was the source of the spice. He adjusted his coat, his human teeth chattering.
Stop and Eat the Roses
Look—it’s not easy being the Easter Bunny. It’s not that I don’t like painting all those eggs—I do. And it’s not the manual labor aspect; I don’t even hide the eggs, ok, the pixies do that. What sucks is the social expectation. Easter is a real community-driven holiday, you know? Everyone’s always getting together to barbecue or something, and I just…I don’t do that whole “social” thing. But somehow people always seem to expect me to party and picnic and talk about my “process” and “where do you see yourself in five years” and honestly I’d rather watch paint dry.