Buying three dozen head of cattle nearly wiped me out. Then I bought four more. I really need forty bull housing.
Millions of Americans are unable to quit their jobs to join choirs. It’s a crisis of affordable how-sing.
I want to sip warm rooibos chai in my hipster dwelling. It’s my loft tea ambition.
The Founding Fathers approved of suburban spawl. When I gaze upon the endless tracts of houses in cookie-cutter subdivisions, I am reminded of their words, that “all manor created equal.“
I live in a leaky German submarine. It’s my humble uboat.
So annoying! A UFO came and put a lien on my house.
If you want to make whoopee, it’s best to move into a fartable housing, toot suite.
My new landlady made a pass at me. I declined, because I didn’t want a Hi, mate tenants, relationship.
I spat gum out onto a wall – and now it’s gotten stucco.
I bought a house next to a Portapottie. Ah, leakfront property!