I Like 'em Big. And Stupid. Don't

Tell Me What Game Steph Landry And I Used To Play In The Big Dirt Pile They Made While They Were Digging My Family’s Pool, Back When We Were Both Seven, Or I’ll Know You’re An Alien Replacement And You’ve Got The Real Steph Up In Your Mother Ship!” I Glared At Him. “g.i. Joe Meets Spelunker Barbie,” I Said. “and Stop Being So Ridiculous. We Have To Go. We’re Going To End Up At A Bad Table For Lunch.

It's Only In Fairy Tales That Princesses Can Afford To Wait For The Handsome Prince To Save Them. In Real Life, They Have To Bust Out Of Their Own Coffins And Do The Saving Themselves.

Back In Middle School, Catherine And I Had Gone Through This Stage Where All We Would Read Were Fantasy Books. We'd Consume Them Like M&m's, By The Fistful, J.r.r. Tolkien And Terry Brooks And Susan Cooper And Lloyd Alexander. Susan Boone Looked, To Me, Like The Queen Of The Elves (there's Almost Always An Elf Queen In Fantasy Books). I Mean, She Was Shorter Than Me And Had On A Strange Lineny Outfit In Pale Blues And Greens.

It’s So Much Easier To Walk Away Than It Is To Have To Explain To Someone That You Never Want To See Them Again.

French: Why Does This Language Even Exist? Everyone There Speaks English Anyway.