We need to return to a simpler, better age: when the only social media was an army officer riding to your farm on horseback to tell you that your son was blown to bits by General Lee’s artillery at Gettysburg.
I knew from the moment that Mary Elizabeth first laid her greedy eyes on the fake pearl buttons on your trousers in Fort Laramie that a gold-sifter was about to enter our lives. In that moment, she realized she had found her ticket to all the wealth of the west, because she found the kind of buster that would spend a whole half-dollar on some pantaloons.
It’s 7:00 AM. I’m ripped out my case. They call them props people, but to me, they’re my captors.
Dear Flippy, So I recently got arrested for something. Don’t ask me what. Anyways, while I was sitting in the clink, I thought, you know, now would be a great time to reread my pocket Constitution, primarily because I was bored but also because there is a very real possibility I could go to prison. Anyways, when I pulled that Constitution out of my pocket, I saw something that made me think of you, my sweet, sweet bear friend: the
If you or a loved one have a foot fetish, please seek help at 1-800-BITCH-DIE-BITCH.
Hey, guys. so I need your help. Somebody told me today that there’s something happening on Urethra Pain, but I don’t know what that planet is. My astronomy teacher wasn’t very good; in fact, he told me that planets are just oversized paper airplanes that the government launches into the sky when they wants to distract us from the liberal takeover. It took me five years to find out that was wrong. So, I want to be proactive and just
This week, while Harvard put out a statement saying that it would not acquiesce to Trump’s demands, Northwestern took a more Victorian approach.
Northwestern discovered that she can make, on average, $10,000 per donation cycle for her eggs. That means she would only need to sell her eggs 79,000 times, which is basically nothing.
I noticed that my professor’s–excuse my French–derriere had grown exponentially in size. His butt, like an atomic bomb, absolutely mushroomed and I was wondering why.
Marty was an average fish; he worked at a travel agency and dealt plankton on the side to make ends meet. He had a wife and 1000 kids; they all played Go Fish together on Sunday evenings. His home was adorned with fancy eggs and it had these beautiful seaweed curtains on the windows. He had everything that a suburban fish could wish for — white-picket fence and all. And, much like Job, he lost everything. On that fateful day, he was attending the reef’s fishtivities, celebrating a year of being kelp-neutral.