The night a raccoon ate my dinner
Raccoons and I had an understanding, or so I thought.
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Raccoons and I had an understanding, or so I thought.
"I met him at his place to watch a movie then go out for food. He seemed nice enough and eagerly took me down to his theater room where I found out there was no movie. Instead, he showed me a horrifically long slideshow of his last family vacation and went into painful detail about every aspect of the trip."
In his book Among the Bros, Max Marshall shines a light on a case in Charleston and what it says about Greek life in America
Randy Krzmarzick I didn’t invite him. He just showed up and now he won’t leave. Don’t you hate when visitors do that? I’m talking about the ten pounds I put on this winter. Old Mr. 180 Pounds. I hadn’t seen him on the scale since I happily tipped 170 a few years ago. Like a lot of us, my weight has yo-yoed over the years. Well, more like trampolined or bungee-jumped. There’s been 60 pounds of me that have been more or less. That’s not unusual for Americans. There never has been a place as blessed with a reliable food supply. Alas, too much of a blessing becomes a curse. We have ...