I leave the pharmacy, wiping off snot with my sleeve, my head stuffier than a high-school locker room. I carry nose drops, antihistamines, and the good decongestant for which I must flash my driver’s license because lesser meth cooks than Walter White use it as raw material.

This is actually way better than what Winslow used to be doing in the laundry room.

“Mommy, Daddy, are we middle class?” My eyes sparkled with hope.

“Yes, dear,” they answered. “We are.” And then we went out for ice cream to celebrate the fact that we could afford it.

Here are some activities for anti-gay politicians to do while avoiding their craving for gay sex!

I’ve been working very closely with Ben and Winslow, trying to work out some merchandising options. So far Winslow’s only interested in edible stuff. The Ben & Winslow Pez dispenser is still a work in progress, sadly.