That or they were being campy. But not in

That or they were being campy. But not in a Sleep-a-way kind of way. More like Elm Street on Crystal Lake where I saw what you did. I know you like scary movies & you fingerbanged

Carrie at the Myers’ mid-century modern duplex, up in Michael’s bedroom. Yes, The Thing was Child’s Play but better than going all the way and fathering Rosemary’s Baby, in The Fog

nobody can see you trip and fall. You'll just be walking there, humming to yourself about how great life is, then all of a sudden, THUD! At least nobody's gonna laugh, right?

Wrong! Right in the middle of the sidewalk outside your workplace everybody sees you trip over nothing and fall flat on your face. You get up and feel blood trickle down your face.

You normally have facial tissues but forgot to buy a pack last time you were at Walgreens. A middle-aged guy asks if you're okay and hands you napkins from Charbucks. "It's clean."

You nod at him and wipe your face. Time to pull yourself together and catch that plane. Time to pull on your big girl pants and deal with it all, like you should have done before

the meltdown that rocked your world an hour ahead of your flight. At security, your giant pants which rose to your chin did not escape notice: "I'm gonna need you to take those off

. They're covered in metal." "I can, but I'll warn you, I'm wearing nothing underneath." But security came first, so you took them off and went streaking through the metal detector

like a hooligan at a football game. Sirens went off immediately. You just kept running as they yelled after you. They wouldn't find what you had hidden up "nature's pocket", a