My new nickname for the poet who lives in the basement.
Let me tell you a story about a dog named Chuck.
With apologies to the skiers and snowboarders who are shaking their fists at the sky.
Do we even realize what we let sleep in our houses, dog owners?
That is not the innocent dog you think he is or want him to be.
Sure, the last interception was brilliant last night, but everyone knows what the best part about that game was.
For all the time that I spend on the couch reading US Weekly and eating bonbons.
Some of you may remember the video I’ve embedded in this post and you’re either going to love me or hate me for it.
Sunday morning cinnamon rolls are a tradition and do these guys ever know it.
He’s now back to his brooding and contemplative self, but for a few days he had lilt in his step.