To the fridge I head, seeking the only comfort this pale life offers me.
I thought he was mere folklore — a boogeyman, a myth that goes bump(?) in the night.
Spooky scary story
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I’m brave. I’m bold. I’m a survivor — nay — a trooper — no — a warrior. And I did it all for you. This is my story, this is my truth, this is my tale. One shot, one opportunity, mom’s spaghetti.
Why stare wistfully at paintings when you can stare rizzfully at actual people?
I have blister band-aids in my first-aid kit. I actually charge my portable charger. I carry Tums in my purse, babe.
She knew — nay, she felt it in her soul, her bones, the dust mites in her squeaky Walter Gage mattress — she deserved someone positively, truly exceptional.
Here is a list of the most niche, most out there, most individual and not-like-other-girls clubs in the whole school because everyone deserves to have mandatory weekly-meeting-induced friendships.
Based on a true story. (Literally, this is just something that happened to me.)
The only thing scarier than midterms? Not having a sick Halloween costume.
As Pea Man once said, “If music be the peas of love, play on.”
Today, I’ll be giving you my truest thoughts on pneumonia, the baddest, no, the realest illness to get during early December as a university student.
The fluorescent lightning and ever-present ambient machinery buzz imbues this spot with the essence of the uncanny, the bizarre, the strange. A perfect place for a Valentine’s confession.