Tippy toes cats eat the best ice cream—rocky road—from the bottom of the one litre tub of the gooey good stuff.

I had the best intentions at heart when I stole all your baseball card collection and then burned your house down whiling gleefully snattering a laugh of demonic proportions and eating raw puppy legs. Best of intentions, yes.

The way he talked it was like his vocal chords were on fire, and his throat rumbled with urgency. Insurgency. Psychic salsa is what would make my throat water and sting my mental appetite.

Get off the boat and I’ll clear my throat when the captain says I’m a city slickin’ jerkoff.

I think the only solution, really, is for you to smile even as the bullet from the firing line tears through your head.

I told the woman who was selling the coffee to give me extra sugar. She said ok, honey. I thought whatta sweetheart. And the saccharinity corroded all the way through us both.

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