Lambada, the forbidden dance, becomes the forbidden movie, but for different reasons.
Diana Betterworth was having the worst day. Ever! She was dying in real time. It began this morning with a persistent cough, followed by the profuse spitting up of blood, up to a half gallon. She feared if she closed her eyes long enough, they would never open again. And the pain, it was agonizing.
All men crave a relationship based on pratfalls and mishearings, as well as the comfort to look at another man in this way.
“Frankly, I’m worried.”
“Yeah, me too, and Please, you can just call me Frank.”
Please nodded while loosening his bright red tie. “I’ve never had to wait this long before.”
It is rare when a cow survives a tornado, but when it does, the cow becomes an incessant arrogant asshole. It’s true.
The storm moved in quickly and spread rapidly like pancreatic cancer on an unsuspecting soul. Raymond Harcourt shielded his eyes from the rain as best as he could, when he heard an eerie sound from above getting louder. It was a tornado cow, emphasis on was. It descended and splattered all over the parking lot.
“Don’t cry for me Argentina, I have lived a life better than over 98% of North Korea.”
It was weird. I was at the animal shelter against my better judgment. Currently, I was standing still on a broken treadmill, not even pretending to move forward, surrounded by a sea of depression. My girlfriend, Lori, left me for an older man. In most cases, it wouldn’t matter who it was, but here, in the now; it was fucking Don Henley. Yes, the very same drummer/vocalist of Eagles fame. Yet, I digress.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
The Art and Craft of Blogging
The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.
The Home Of DJ Sung Mo Koo 