The New Yorker - All Humour

You have a penchant for pinning your sleep partner beneath your full weight, which has suddenly shifted entirely into the leg or arm you’ve draped across their body.

I was comfortable being a tween pariah—especially when the rejection came from such idiots.

The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

A luxurious candle probably can’t undo years of terrorization brought on by massive hormonal swings, but it’s worth a try!

The politician tries his hand at captioning New Yorker cartoons.