A friend comes over with a Ouija board.It spells out: Bourbon. Where’s the band?Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.

I escape disaster by writing a poem with a joke in it:The past, present, and future walk into a bar—it was tense.

I don’t believe we should carry backupplans in life’s suitcase—they’re too easy to unpack like living a life in yoga pants, so comfortable our hips spreadinto new timezones...

I can’t relate to your razzle-dazzle, your wish for voluptuous when my symphony is spanx.