From now on, whenever I want anything, from more butter on my pancakes to sneakers in my size, if I don’t get it I am going to threaten to develop a program of nuclear weapons.
When I was in college, I had to decide between becoming a writer or a Mexican druglord. I see now that, in terms of access to escape tunnels, I made a poor choice.
I am never going to vote for anyone with a seriously asymmetrical head like Scott Walker’s. He looks like a cyborg made from spare parts. By a bored preschooler.
If I was a billionaire, and I gave 100 million dollars to build a library or a museum, I would be far too modest to have the building named after me. I would ask that the building be called The Someone Very Special Concert Hall or maybe The Shy Philanthropist Who Everybody Loves Institute.
I am going to resist ordering any of the Christmas In July illuminated ornaments from Home Shopping. Especially the ones where the hosts claim, “And you can use them all year round, clustered on a sideboard for Sunday brunch!”
I think that being a network news anchor is harder than it looks, especially if you’re gay, and you’re introducing a story by a gay member of your action news team. Because no matter how much you’re dying to, you can’t say, “So girlfriend, what’s happening in Moscow? Hmmm?”
Not a decision, but a question: why do I find the photo below so unnerving?
