Angels Are Just Pretty Insects.

I Could Stand On My Head And Flick The Bean Right There At The Dinner Table And My Mom Would Be All, "honey, Christmas Is Family Time, We Should Be Together" And Make Me Finish In Front Of Everyone.

Unless You Can Change The Past, You’re Wasting The Present On This Guilt

She Pulled Down The Blanket And Aimed Baby Sophie's Bottom At Him Like She Might Unleash A Fusillade Of Weapons-grade Poopage Such As The Guileless Beta Male Had Never Seen.

I've Won Satan's Lottery.

I Know That Even Now, Having Watched Enough Television, You Probably Won't Even Refer To Them As Lepers So As To Spare Their Feelings. You Probably Call Them 'parts-dropping-off Challenged' Or Something.