Must Love Otters

piggyback a puff of recycled air.

questionable financial management.

flash of powerlessness never goes away

floating to the bat cave in the sky. “

, what is your emergency?”
“My husband … he’s not breathing. He’s blue. His lips are blue. Jer

would be funny if he weren’t such a raging, infected prick.

I suspect it’s because she’s playing his skin flute in the unisex bathroom during their lunch break.

dead with a boner.

Whatever genetic predisposition to medicine that runs like plague through my family?