If this year has taught me anything at all; it's that cabin fever has driven desperate people to the edge. Especially the ones that are no stranger to Walmart gift cards and live on streets that are named after presidents. 2022 is gonna be lit ya'll.
Another vigorous pairing of perverted miscreants that would be better suited opening at the Gathering of the Juggalos instead of having freedom of choice in a semi-coherent society.
Here it is: The grand finale in a long line of degenerates who value their integrity less than that chicken sandwich everyone is getting german suplexed over. Especially the last clip. I haven't seen determination like that since the Epstein Didn't Kill Himself meme.
After seeing so many of these situations, sometimes I find myself asking; "Surely this is a planted setup?" I simply refuse to believe anomalies this brazen would be shown less audible disgust than someone being told the McFlurry machine is broken when they get noticed.
Flipping the Minnow, Clubbing the Chimp, Procrastabating, Shaking Hands with Bruce Willis - Call it what you want. I refer to it as the only reason to leave the house other than to stock up on Mr. Pibb and fried dough. Shoutouts to feminism for empowering these women.
Today's lessons: Little Dicky is a literal name (4:21), Tourism is still alive and well (0:11) and statistically speaking, this is the least likely way to acquire an STD in public. Trust me, I've seen 3 full episodes of House M.D.
It's almost like as time passes, society has less than a fuck to give about where they burn the midnight salami. Reminds me of the time I was almost caught defecating in a Blockbuster return box in protest to late fees accumulated on Surf Ninjas. [my balance remains due]
Hiking trails? Elevators? Nursing homes? That's right, all of your most unassuming entertainment venues come at a hidden cost. Just a non-related tip of the day: Steer clear from any dipping sauces that have the word tangy in the name near closing time. Trust me.
Monetizing your vagina only has a few rules: Minimal trips to Home Depot, and keep the clitoris away from all things with the name "Husqvarna" on them. Not a hard list, but this MFC alumni decides to test fate another way, resulting in a semi-rage quit. GGNORE.
A special service bulletin for the female viewer(s). Next time you feel like exposing your rotten tator tot to the general public, read a couple chapters of Everything I Know About Women I Learned From My Tractor by Roger Welsch first. Maybe you'll find what's missing in your life.