I think Pickle's dad is Trump's imaginary friend, Jimmy.

Goddammit.

At least the writer of the fake letter didn't do any of that letters turned around backwards shit (because nine-year-olds are cognitively indistinguishable from six-year-olds).

But Dickel is an excellent whiskey that was endorsed by Merle Effin Haggard.

The only bad grades I had in elementary school were for handwriting. (I have a slight deformity in my hands and have basically no strength in the ring fingers and pinkie, so I have trouble gripping a pen*.) One of my happiest days was getting to the point where I never EVER again had to handwrite something in cursive.

That's how they think a fourth-grader writes?? Fourth grade isn't doctoral work, but come on.

Oh, shit. He's got Skip Gates mad at him now!

**Jim Derogatis spontaneously jizzes all over himself.**

She doesn't tell us how the pizza was.

Take a nap, Chester.

You responded to two different people with "Lighten up, Francis."

Yes. And it's still in one giant clump.

I hit mine with a book, and I turned the book so a corner was pointed at her (it was hardback).

Yes. But somehow it came out as "Hitler cheats at bingo."

"Someone" called her sixty-years-younger self a gossip.

Not worth our time?

If you sue, you're a bitch?

Glitterally.

Ummmmm—we need to talk about Bowie.

The Juice is loose! (in October)