The original Bert and Ernie before they were mutated and turned into puppets, or as the kids call it, muppets.
Stranger things have happened. She grew on me like a chintzy mustache, so naturally, like sane people tend to do, we got married and had two and a half children, as well as a St. Bernard named Platypus.
Trump was befuddled this morning, more so than usual. It was evident in his lumbering gait, which was, against all odds, heavier and clumsier. His lips were quivering. His brows tensely furrowed. This meant he was thinking. Thinking like a caveman obsessed with terminal cancer.
There is an old Chinese expression: one martini is not enough, three are too many, and me so drunky, horny and cantankerous.
Deidre Hollingsworth Jr. swirled the lukewarm martini before downing it. She threw her head back, gulped, swallowed, and exhaled. She was pissed off fierce and the gin was only fueling her anger. Her soon-to-be fiancée, Mr. Andre Shoemaker, who just so happened to be the renowned shoe designer of the 21st century was thirty minutes late.
The waiter cautiously approached her, “May I get Ms. Junior another one?”
Move over Pinocchio, you are no longer the most popular liar.
It is obvious to anyone who has ears that this man is a scumbag liar. His story is too rehearsed; all the inflections are in all the wrong places. Speaking of wrong places, his roving eyes dart everywhere, as if seeking for an appropriate answer, and by answer, I mean mistruth. The more details he layers into his webbed tale, there is an apparent understanding that he is so stupid that he has forgotten what he said minutes before.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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