The science of booby-trapping has taken a good deal of the fun out of following hot on the enemy's heels.
In the past, I used to counter any such notions by asking myself: 'Would you really want President Hattersley?' I now find that possibility rather cheers me up. With his chubby, Dickensian features and his knowledge of T.H. Green and other harmless leftish political classics, Hattersley might not be such a bad thing after all.
The concept of two people living together for 25 years without a serious dispute suggests a lack of spirit only to be admired in sheep.
Everybody either hates or loves John Cena; there's no medium. I feel like that I've accomplished something when I get people to cheer for John Cena. I feel like I've done something.
When you're on the road, fans pay to cheer on their team and boo the other team; that's just part of it. That's what they're supposed to do. I expect it. I think everybody expects that.
Seriously, who really cares how long the Nile river is, or who was the first to discover cheese? How is memorizing that ever going to help anyone? Instead, we need to give kids projects that allow them to exercise their minds and discover things for themselves.
Lest Arab governments be tempted out of sheer routine to rush into impulsive rejection, let me suggest that tragedy is not what men suffer but what they miss.
My husband will tell you to run for the hills if you see me behind the wheel.
My wheelchair is like the Cadillac of wheelchairs; it goes up and down and back, and I can lay down in it.
It's cheesy, but having a pimple or a bad hair day isn't going to matter in five years. I don't always remember that, but I try.
