With July properly underway (past the inaugural days but not yet having reached the ides), one Wordle Friend is stopped in his tracks when the ghost of a long-dead tyrant rears his ugly countenance to enact his wretched curse.
The Wordle Friends are grateful that funcitons of homeostasis fall outside the scope of their consciousness; that their pancreases can fulfill its purpose without...
Hey, if you like the Wordle Freinds so much, why don't you marry them? Or at least listen to one of them play a...
Whoa!