Madden was a different kind of king. His pants fit funny and I doubt he had a decent haircut his whole life. He wore sideburns like mud flaps. But was he a leader.
The way my daughter crisps the au gratin potatoes transcends all the superlatives in my arsenal: buttery, bitchin’, luscious, boffo.
Christmas hurts sometimes, when you are alone, or missing loved ones who are far away. Certainly, this Covid Christmas only aggravates that.
As you know, words can be bourbon, words can be gin.
Cryptocurrency? I’d probably be better off giving them walnuts – any item of actual value. Gum, for instance.
I’m enjoying these spurts of weepy weather – the gurling cisterns and the “noise of the wind under the tiles,” to borrow from C.S. Lewis.
If you like the Pentatonix, I’ll probably propose. No kidding, that’s what their music does to me.
Personally, I find Vegas a little snoozy, especially compared to real party spots like Pasadena or Glendale.
Roswell orders a martini as if reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, with reverence, and olives on the side and citrus along the rim.
By tradition, we often do an “encore turkey,” to ensure that we have leftovers all the way through July. A Hobbit’s second breakfast.