To save the day, he turned to one of his playlists titled âTighty Whities,â a term he created to describe songs that white people, who still use the word âtight,â think are âtight.â
The siren is the type of girl who stays awake long into the night for thought-provoking conversations, painting her feelings using ground coffee beans and lost dreams, and embarking on cannabis-infused sexual escapades. But be warned: you will probably have to go with her to the march to save fat squirrels, or whatever social justice crap sheâs into that week.Â
After being accused of purposely running into a man while skiing, actress Gwyneth Paltrow was found innocent of wrongdoing this week, ensuring white women will always have the right to have snow up their nose. This decision comes after a furious legal battle in which the plaintiff claimed that his senses had been dulled after the collision, citing his inability to taste or smell wine. The plaintiff also stated that he could no longer participate in his other âcultural activities,â
Diehard supporters of the Eucharist reject the pious produce, claiming that the only food group that can be connected to God is flaccid bread.
He told Flipside reporters (accidentally, via secret microphone hidden inside his phoneâs PopSocket) about the reasoning behind his decision: âI think theyâll take my emails more seriously if they see Iâm one of them⊠Maybe we should start thinking about sending them Kik messages too, apparently no one uses AOL anymore lolz!!â
âI never thought I would ever have the urge to call Morty a dame,â said Michael âBut there I was, holding my eyeballs in their sockets so they wouldnât pop out like a Looney Tunes horndog.â
Jimmy John told reporters. âNow they have something else out of the toilet to work forâbeing decent enough at a sport to earn Charminâs soft, gentle kiss.â
âPlus, this really isnât so differentâMr. Shapiro nibbles on sticks with the best of âem.â
In the aftermath of the theft, the one swab, dubbed âOle Faithfulâ, could be found lying underneath the ransacked shelves of its fallen brethren.
As I stood in front of the Jacobs Center, waiting to cross the street with post-Abbot nasal drip, I certainly wasnât expecting my life to change.