My group leader at work believes in mermaids and my manager has a second job where he moonlights as an alcoholic
“Send a card to your favorite arborist,” urged Hall. “After all, do you have any idea how many trees we slaughter to make Arbor Day cards?
10 dollars–I’ll bet you 10 dollars that peanut-headed evolutionary cul-de-sac out there thinks there’s honey in that nest.
Wal-Mart customers, in their slovenly, overweight, sloppy, greasy, mouth-breathing, amorphic, somewhat tragic, most likely pathetic ways will be perfect zombie fodder.
Notice how the bumper sticker is a real sticker and not some fly-by-night magnet that can be applied and taken off on any philosophical whim. No, my sticker is permanent.
It was a struggle, convincing people I had reinvented the wheel. Hello, it’s the 21st century: stick your dick into a tube!
“Sometimes I can’t help but come down to the floor and really lay into someone I didn’t even know existed until 15 seconds ago.”
When you host that show, do you hold a gun under your chin as if it were a microphone?