This is Los Angeles, not King’s Landing!

“Ahhhhhhhh, the French, a delicious new lube from Paul Mason.”

Which is insane because my car is older than that and in much better condition than half the cars I’ve ridden in.

No, that’s a fucking mop!

They really hang outside of the window to deflect molotov cocktails of sarin gas.

They were unable to come to an accord.

Being woken up every 108 minutes is fucking scary.

This doesn’t make any sense. People are downloading because they don’t have or what legal access. The risk of a virus or trojan is low and if you’re smart you’re scanning your files before opening them.

It’s called the Squeeze Test and it’s not widely used because you have to compare how much the ball squeezes in comparison to Goodell’s cock.

Half the time when in a city, the GPS is so bonkers I have to enter the address in manually anyway. Now I’ve entered in a handful of locations several times so that they’re first to come up.

Santa also hates things that are different. Unless they can guide his sleigh.

I found a better photo of the husband:

So that our lord and savior Fernando “Yee-Haw” Alonso can take his place at Mercedes.

Lewis’ book will just be a coffee table book of his snapchats.

“Neither the Queen nor the Prime Minister talks about what transpired during their meetings.”

They almost have this bond, one that a maternal figure might have for one it’s own offspring.

Also on twitter:

Not even tones. Nails on a chalkboard screeches is more like it.