If you must – like, have to – break protocol and converse with someone in a public restroom while backing out a hairy groaner of a dump, do not use the word, ‘bro.‘ To wit, “Sorry, I’ll be just a minute, bro.”
No. Don’t.
If you must – like, have to – break protocol and converse with someone in a public restroom while backing out a hairy groaner of a dump, do not use the word, ‘bro.‘ To wit, “Sorry, I’ll be just a minute, bro.”
No. Don’t.
Life has taught me that the one thing you can count on to remain unchanging is this: things will change.
There’s some kind of fucked-up metaphysical shit in there. I need a beer.
People with pollen allergies are essentially those who don’t react well to plant cumshots.
Here are the three times your nose will be guaranteed to itch:
1. Cleaning the toilet
2. Cooking with meat blood up to your fucking elbow
3. Sex with someone of great significance
Because it sucks ass being me.
Holy fuckchunks! Carrots are fucking ORANGE. Like, really orange. Have you stopped and really observed that shit?
I fucking hate the color orange.
Tiny farts and knowledge of physics sucks, because you understand surface tension and partial pressure. That’s what makes the asscrack sweat make the unpoppable bubble of fart jammed deep up your ass.
I love it when I realize my expectations will always exceed my accomplishments. Good way to stay humble.
I am God’s chew toy.