For our purposes we’re calling it a “stick,” it’s best if you don’t ask too many questions.
Forgive the absence, I was otherwise occupied in questionable pursuits.
What will happen to the other Seattle, the Seattle of things?
All I see is “jam” and “balls.”
Well hell, your marketing folk can’t beat that.
Washington’s Libertarians ask the hard questions.
The language of blight is something between Welsh and German, inscrutable and glottal. Best not spoken, but read.
They can deliver, they turn pinecones into coffee, but nothing they do will turn those arrows into a C.
Continental Breakfast, he growled, how the cheap bastards could get you to spend a little extra on a day-old bear claw and forget that the toilets didn’t flush. But you take two or three for the road and everything’s square.
Go football.
That comes with a side of meme.
English major, magna cum laude, class of 2014.
This is a sex thing, yes?
The Christian spirit.
Took a walk, found a lost civilization.
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