Casual Text
Each week, Coach sends me a series of increasingly bizarre text messages. And each week, I share them with you.

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Dear Martin: Gene Wilder wants his hair back. Yours, Martin.

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Turn up Al Qaeda! My tittie meat's on fire... and this burka's coming off!

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Audible sighs are a sign of mental illness.

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Carrying a tot with a full diaper load in a sling across my chest is my burden; my albatross.

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I can't stop crying for the losers on "Antiques Roadshow."

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Radical software engineers make great margaritas but they use WAY too much cilantro in their queso.

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I just cut myself opening a box of band-aids.

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The Manson girls, named after the colors of a rainbow, spent months stitching Charlie a vest that featured animals, forests, nude figures and human skulls. This vest is now in the private collection of Elizabeth Taylor.

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Yes, my sweet! Use my money making system!

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There's a plate of homemade wishes on the window sill of love (my legs and arms have been numb all day).

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Kittenpants

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