Ooooh. I don’t know. That’s a tough call. It’s like being forced to choose between two types of shit.

My dairy allergy is also weeping. :(

I can’t see Friday’s Barf Bag comments either. :/

I do this but with my husband. Weird, I know. 

I am in tears, laughing my ass off at “wattle”. 

Right? She’s got a complexion like an old leather sofa that’s been dumped on the side of the road in Florida, and left to weather for several seasons.

She’s so weird looking. The trump chin, the strangely long neck, the humped shoulders. She’s starting to look hard and old, too. This “presidency” is aging her fast.

She ... wants to be on her daddy’s tiny, syphilitic penis? Ew.

Oh, wow. I’d forgotten these nutcases were a thing.

Exactly. If kids die, your mission was a fucking failure.

She’s had so much work done, it’s hard to keep up with all the code words.

Isn’t she just about due for another “kidney” tuneup?

This brings me joy.

Die mad, you irrelevant old fart.

I’m not normally so crass, but I really detest those people. :D

Lumpkin. That’s a fitting last name.

Maxipads go on cunts, so this checks out.

Your wife is also my hero now. She clearly rocks.

Right? I’m sitting here drooling like a common Homer Simpson, damn it.

Hard no. Cheetos are meant to be crunchy. The ice cream would make them flaccid and gross.