The worst part about eating a bag of dicks is I always promise myself just one more dick and I’ll save the rest for later…but then it’s ok just one more and after that last one I swear and inevitably I polish off the whole bag and feel bloated and over-full and vow to myself next time I’ll only have half the bag in one sitting.

If this is wrong, The New Yorker, I don’t want to be right.

"I had you pegged wrong," I say, removing the strap-on from his urethra.

My only source of peace is knowing in at least one alternate universe I'm driving a '72 Dodge Charger off a cliff.

“Honey,” I coo to my partner after an argument. “Lamb chop. Sweet cakes.” “You're just naming foods,” she snaps. “Pumpkin,” I say. “Muffin.” She glares at me. I pause a beat. “Zucchini bread.”

“I theorize there's a rare form of radioactive decay that could suggest neutrinos are their own anti-particles,” my date says. ME: … I like butts.