A dating app where you can locate single mall Santas in your area.
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Yes, I've tried that brand of natural deodorant. And that brand. And that other brand. I'm sticking with the chemicals because they work for me and hopefully my body can sustain the long-term trauma. But if I do die from this habit, please write on my grave:
"Here lies Nasreen, dropped dead from deodorant. She was just trying to smell nice for you." It's just like sitting in a recliner, except the chair is a giant thong and your legs are basically mummified and if you let go you might die.
I did not purchase these Chocolate Chirp cookies made out of ground up crickets (“cricket flour”) but I took a picture for you. Now I’m considering going back for them because, you know, I might get invited to a hipster potluck.
I walked down a back alley and got caught up in a hipster party. Someone dumped an avalanche of dried apricots on the charcuterie table. A woman suggested that I sit in a cabana and try on a maroon velvet turban. Several tween bodyguards fidgeted in their skinny jeans and adjusted their sunglasses. I’m covered in glitter stars and all I can think about is essential oils and rattan. Was that an initiation ceremony? Am I one of them now?
Things that SELF-DESTRUCT: modern landmines, high-security data storage devices, artificial intelligence undergoing cognitive dissonance, ice cream cones.
My father leaves fruit in his wake whenever he visits. He is the fruit king and I am the loyal subject.
"Daddy, how do you peel pomegranates?" "Well there are many techniques." "Ok but what do you do?" "Well I take my shirt off. And then I take my undershirt off." Later, as we drive past a strip club, I imagine the farmer's daughter striding onto the stage: "For my next routine I will peel a pomegranate!" |
AuthorMy name is Nasreen Yazdani. Archives
February 2022
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