Obama’s Term of Endearment Leaves Bitter Aftertaste
Here’s the truth: I’m sweet on Barack Obama, and the man can call me whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t let that war-mongering glad-hander into our White House.
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Here’s the truth: I’m sweet on Barack Obama, and the man can call me whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t let that war-mongering glad-hander into our White House.
At the sinks, a trio of women recline side-by-side, eyes closed in seeming ecstasy as their locks are lovingly lathered.
Iknow some stuff. Cool stuff. Man stuff. Like how to hook up jumper cables and spackle drywall and calculate the volume of a sphere.
Crocs. They’re a sham at the end of your shin. A prank below your ankles. A fraud perpetrated on the feet of fools.
As parents, especially, the threats of the Digital Age can scare you stupid.
And other lies meant to torture us.
We were headed to Paradise. But we wound up in Boca instead.
How a speeding ticket became a bright yellow metaphor-and much-needed wake-up call-for the reckless pace of my life
My coworkers must really love me.
Starshine heeds the experts advice and visits her fourth- grader’s school to taste what’s being served.