I learned more from the film 13th than I did from the entire African Diaspora curriculum at NYU.

I’ll have to spend a whole day by my pool just to even out these tan lines from protesting.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone into nonprofit or social work. What’s the point in being a rocket scientist when I can’t fix what’s happening here on Earth?

People are terrible. I usually get thousands of likes on my selfies, but I only got a few hundred on that black box I posted.

Send me a receipt of your charitable donations, and I’ll play you a John Lennon cover on my harp.

I also never liked Karen, my wealth management advisor.

My hands are so tired from signing petitions that I can’t even open this jar of capers. Guess I won’t be making that Blond Puttanesca I saw in Saveur. (We’re still boycotting Bon Appetit, right?)

I’m no longer accepting dates with city council members on Raya.

If Trump is re-elected, I vow to move to Switzerland. Might as well put my French fluency to use.

I’d go to the virtual sit-in, but my MacBook’s all wired into my treadmill desk.

Do you need cardboard for your sign? I still have the box for the credenza I ordered from West Elm.

Right now, I’m having very important conversations with my lover, Bradley Cooper. It’s crucial to exchange ideas.

Will there be somewhere at the protest to charge my Tesla?

I’ve turned down the fountain in the walkway to make room for listening.