Plant the Life Of My Story App into Facebook to grow this seed into a weed
I’m not afraid of clowns; they just happen to be a reoccurring theme in my nightmares. There was a clown at a work function the other day. If my interactions with Antsy the Clown were just a dream, it would read something like this: So there I was in a moonbounce that was right in the middle of a car dealership. There was a clown who asked me to dance. We bounced around like little children sharing their first crush. But as I started to leave, the clown says, “Stay with me, Ryan… forever.”
When I was young, I used to pick on the fat kid. His name was Darrel. I saw Darrel last night at a bar in Red Bank (NJ). He’s in great shape and is modeling. I, on the other hand, haven’t been able to see my penis in four years.
I ordered a sub from a sandwich shop. The guy behind the counter making the sandwich was not wearing gloves. As he put on the seasonings and spices, I could see the lettuce between his fingernails. His hairy knuckles glided through the onions. When he was all done with the sandwich, I didn’t say anything. I just took the sandwich with me. When I got home, I gave it to my brother, who won a bet and made me go out and get him a sub in the first place. Bon appetite.
