Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady

If You're Writing A Screenplay, You Need To Be Prepared To Let Go: There's A Good Chance The Words You Write Aren't Going To Be The Ones That End Up On Screen.

Not Like This Vision Before Us, Who Was Shaking Water Out Of His Slightly Overlong Reddish-brown Hair As He Leaned Over To Lay Down His Board (revealing, As He Did So, The Fact That Beneath His Baggy Swim Trunks—so Weighted Down With Water That They Had Sunk Somewhat Dangerously Low On His Hips—lurked What Appeared To Be An Exceptionally Well-formed Gluteus Maximus)

Did You See Him? I Know The Photo Was Grainy, But He Looks Like One Of Those Death Metal Goth Heads, Or Whatever They’re Called. All Dressed In Black With Long Hair I Took Umbrage At My Mother Describing My Boyfriend This Way. John Was The Lord Of The Underworld. How Else Was He Supposed To Dress?

Nice To Know I Have That Effect On Boys. I Mean, Christopher Doesn't Even Know I Exist, And Brandon Stark Practically Throws Up When He Sees Me. Having My Brain Transplated Into A Supermodel's Body Was Doing Wonders For My Love Life.

Wait. Why Am I Thinking About Krispy Kremes? We’re Supposed To Be Exercising.