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sorenbowie.bsky.social
Writer at American Dad. Co-host of Quick Question with Soren and Dan.
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The variation I love most of Fuck, Marry, Kill.

i take my daughter to the park, and she runs for the swings. “go way high,” she says—high enough for her butt to leave the seat at the apex and feel that flutter of danger in your stomach when nothing connects you to the ground—which is perfect for me because i'm really good at pushing people away

As soon as I find a mantra that works it’s over for you fuckers.

remembering fondly the historically correct behavior of purchasing a thing with money and never hearing from the seller of the thing again in my life

Kidnap Brocktoon with me.

I would rather not dwell on, or even think about, why my enjoyment of anything in the world is dependent on whether attractive people have also chosen to do it.

I put a little dab of ketchup on every spider I see in case that’s the one I eat in the middle of the night.

my wound could use a little more salt actually

All the people who like pineapple on pizza should be rounded up and thrown in an island. A nice island with lots of amenities and beautiful beaches and also I am one of those people.

Dying and going to Seventh Heaven just to Biel something.

She had it whitened and now I’m just a shade with eyes unfixed wandering aimlessly through the underworld.

I hate that blue raspberry is a flavor. It is adult kryptonite. It takes all the appeal out of stealing my children’s candy.

“But the fact that I believed the obvious joke was real still says a lot about the state of things!” I say, narrowly maintaining my dignity before walking into the sea.

This is pornographic.

I’ve found that you can tell a lot about a man by the shoes he travels in. For instance, if he wears boots with an upturned pointed toe and a bell at the end, he is likely a jester or an elf of one kind or another.

On my death bed: “I regret that I didn’t have enough fun [cough cough] playing with the fact that John Mayer said he wanted a girlfriend with ‘The Joshua Tree of vaginas.’”

There are two wolves in every man and frankly things don’t look good for that dog in me.

I don’t understand a lot of what’s happening in Severance but I relate to Mark down to my bones when he does 96% of a project and then stops completely.

Yes, there are obviously some hiccups on the first day of tariffs and the market is cratering but please try to be a little less short sighted. Consider for a single second that America is currently KILLING every other country in incidence of measles.

“Mr. Bowie. I will let your family live if you can answer one question correctly: did your children have a bath last night.” “…” “I need an answer.” “I’m thinking! Damnit. There’s no chance you’d rather know first and last names of everyone in my second grade class is there?”

americans will do anything to avoid using the metric system

Doing ads for Squarespace and Bombas Socks at the top of each hour in my filibuster

All my cardio comes from exercises in futility.

I could’ve done a 25 hour filibuster on how the first half of Layla is an undisputed top 10 classic rock song and the second half is unlistenable garbage.

We’re literally watching overpaid techbros who have spent their sad little lives making online shopping software marginally worse openly, viciously lash out against people who have literally devoted their lives to helping others via humanitarian aid and government. The implications are obvious.

There’s something so deeply human about the melancholy of a cloudy day, the desperate longing to wander through a graveyard, to slip into a mausoleum with a stranger and do a standing sixty-nine.

Who do I call if i don’t want any Greenland?

For all your home projects, come to the Home Depot first. Not looking to build? That’s ok, we also offer wide variety of disgusting lollipops.

Words I’ve looked up multiple times, then blacked out while reading the definition and woke up watching a Marvel movie. Milieu Praxis Miasma Inchoate

Something died inside of me when Trump became president. I’ve been throwing up pellets of fur and tiny bones ever since. My breath is horrendous. I’m thinking chipmunk, possibly a squirrel. Anyway, weird coincidence.

Dear yogurt container: when I let you down, when you fell from the heights of the fridge you had every right to sploo-plap all over the floor. But you didn’t. You held yourself together, mostly, and just did kind of a splut, and now I pledge you my life.