it’s green and itchy but i don’t mind; when it’s swishing in the breeze it feels so fine

I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, On the Run convenience stores, but a gas station hot dog technically only qualifies as a “vacation from your day” if you mean that you’ll be spending the better part of the afternoon away from your desk, on the toilet.

Don’t forget to reserve a seat in the spacious handicap stall!

Or maybe if this daycation of yours also includes plans for a side-trip to the Rite Aid to pick up some Imodium, but I’m not 100% sure that qualifies so I’ll have to check the handbook and get back to you.

I did a bunch of ironing last night and wrote you a haiku about it:

Hey you! Kenneth Cole!
That “wrinkle-free” tag of yours
is a crock of shit.

The funny thing about me ironing my own shirts is that I’m not even a woman!

I’m a rebel like that, the kind you always wished you could bring home to piss off your dad, and your mom would say things like “he’s bad news” but at night she secretly longed for his gentle touch, but keep dreaming because you were a little too chubby and, seriously, what would everyone say?