The vast majority of his problems were self-inflicted.
Author: John Rhea
Zombhard run last news paper of apocalypse
She really loved the way he’d gone away.
“Forget adulthood, I’m still struggling with my childhood.”
“Someday my autograph’ll be worth millions!”
“Not today.”
The senator denounced the grammar of his opponent.
The galactic government hotly debated the shed’s color.
She left him. His “philanthropy” was actually philandering.
With those winged shoes, Hermès’ wife expected punctuality.
The “other side of the tracks” is yours.
The weasel won the election with the gerrymander.
Gerard found his name and story wholly arbitrary.
She could never live up to his memory.
“Alice, I’m not going down that rabbit hole!”
“Alien farts, in fact, do smell like roses.”
His farts were the end of their relationship.
He loved her because, not in spite of.
Her farts were the beginning of their relationship.
Connor’s counter conflagration consumed considerable constituencies of colonists.
The gasoline burned freely atop the truck’s engine.
He worked all his life for happy meals.