The older you get, the more it appears, it sprouts and grows, even out of your ears. You trim it, pluck it, wax it, and more, yet no matter the fight, it returns like before.

Ahoy, mateys! I hold yer grog, or maybe a message from a landlubber's log. Though I've no mouth, I can still be uncorked. What am I, ye scurvy dog?

Pack frosty into the shape of one plank. Two-foot, hills bombed with berms and banks. No French fries or pizza, please and thanks.

Oh, sweet preserve of the pantry, a wobbly delight that dances with the dish, just like Gran’s favorite jig on a Sunday afternoon. A savory symphony of fruit, yet it shivers at the touch.

Anther word for when you have a very flat bum bum. The word describes just one cheek though.