No more of his talk about his bitch and her fat mooseknuckle of a puss bunched up in her acid-washed jeans.

I am going to the kitchen this time, Orrin. If I come back in ten minutes and you have not gone, I will simply call the police. Simply, no less. Could it really be simple for her to have the constabs haul him away?

I was quite excited when I came across mageiricophobia—an intense fear of having to cook. Perhaps I wasn't just lazy after all—perhaps I had a phobia! It took no more than a half-minute of reasoning to shoot down that theory. My phobia, if there is one, is not fear but a series of lacks: lack of interest, of enthusiasm, of talent.

Men put on weight in middle age