No one sleeps in this joint! For serious.
Sartre's hell in "No Exit" sounds like a nice vacation these days. Not serious.
But my high school French teach would be proud that I referenced this play 20 years later after she kicked me out of AP class that I was essentially grandfathered into as a result of my sister's legacy as a mini-Marie Antoinette French polyglot. Thanks sis for paving the way for my failure. Sort of serious.
On to real seriousness. Friday is here and we've got to take the party up a notch.
Show some gums. Don't be scared. Think of him as a piranha without teeth. One aggressive gummer.
Hanging out with a headless lady who dresses just like me. I like her. She has impeccable style and doesn't say much. I say a lot. I need a lot of verbal bandwidth. I kinda wish my brother was headless too. He'd still have his cute toes and hands, but he wouldn't be blabbing and gumming and all that other stuff that irritates me. Anyone got a headless baby that they'd like to trade? I like ham sandwiches.
The whole world is ahead of you. I know this sounds positive, but because I'm strapped in this damn torture device, I can't catch up to those fools that are getting further and further ahead. I totally need to walk. This blows.
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