In your chest hair.
In your chest hair.
I may be getting paranoid, but I’m worried the band Beach House snuck into our room one night to take a picture of my wife’s pajamas for their new album cover.

We had the great new album on heavy rotation during today’s road trip to Antwerp.
“How are we going to sell these ‘grilled’ flavor chips?”
“You know, when I think about barbecues, I think about cowboys playing the accordion. Let’s go with that.”
“…”