I think you were going to stop the Black Plague armed with one guard, one mad scientist, a rubber man, and a synthetic rat.

My type? What, a female between eighteen and sixty?

This is more disturbing than a woman with short hair wearing a dress.

Generation to generation, these pseudo-revolutionaries could never handle not being the cool kids. Something was always wrong. No sense of humor, no sense of self, just anger, vitriol, and misery.

I find myself in social situations often where I think of a response to something someone has just said and it’s just too good not to say it. More often than not, it’s something rude or offensive or disturbing. Always funny or poignant, though. And very rarely something I actually feel.

I have nothing to do with Donald Trump.