And by experience, I mean one man blowing up his beer money on the kind of sexual endeavor that would shell shock a Vietnam war veteran. Speaking of blowing up: The only thing missing from that slaughter house between her legs is someone in the background screaming wUrLstAr and Floyd Mayweather coming out of retirement to fight it.
So, this is the new standard for getting attention? Terrorizing unsuspecting civilians with your prescription flavored genitals and "oopsy'ing" ur way through milk toast sexual acts? Points for the self-awareness though. It adds a little depth to my upcoming biography aptly named: Sex, Drugs & Brain Damage
I don't think that title and/or thumb truly convey the crossover that's about to happen here. But if it costs $50,000 to get an 8 pack of Oscar Mayer's uncured wieners into a female's dung funnel, then life is no longer worth living. Inflation did this.
I've never liked golf... or any sports for that matter. I don't see the point of putting balls in holes for points 'n shit, but when the goals have been replaced with holes, you have earned my attention.
If attempting to monetize your most private confessions is any sign of a recession, I'd say we're at the tip of an iceberg that would make the dotcom bubble look like like an afterthought. I'll be expecting a lot more of this until Jim Cramer capitulates.
Another chapter closed in a book that Barnes & Noble insists on displaying in the Sci-Fi section. Normally read in the dimly lit corner of a trailer park that doesn't show up on Google maps, surrounded by Newports and half-eaten cans of Costco's finest meatball ravioli.
The first 60 seconds of this contains a cluster of words that have absolutely no business being chained together in that order. In fact, in my native language just about every single thing out of her talking hole would be considered a grievance offense. (i speak english)
There's 3 things that simply no longer exist in my world: 1) pornography induced erections 2) positive feedback on my 'this is what a feminist looks like' tee and 3) dinners at P.F. Changs that do NOT result in 1st degree burns to my anus. This vid solved 2 outta 3.
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.
Remember the frigid chick that randomly started sobbing in the middle of a Rocco shoot? It was actually pretty touching, to both my heart & my penis. But apparently that encounter was only chapter 1 in a saga of piss-poor decisions.
Our boy is having domicile problems of the synthetic drug variety, and it's fucking up his after-work Roblox clan war. The charges? Breaking and entering, aggravated harassment, disorderly conduct and skidmarking Target's finest bedroom linen. Tensions rise, police are called, I laugh. Pretty funny shit.
