This seriously just happened by pure chance:

I feel like we need to get the butter-boner together with the guy who fucked the bread dough. For science or something.

“just above the guy who dug a hole in a bag of butter and had his way with it before being caught in the act.”

For those people who don’t have an encyclopedic memory of BCO stories, here’s Dustin Hucks’ breadstick story.

Does it look like I know how your shit works? SURE. EVERYWHERE. I’LL JUST DO IT EVERWHERE.

Draw me like one of your French girls.

You are on a spectacular streak of being wrong about everything this week. It’s actually kind of impressive.

THE CAPTION

How these stories make me feel:

Next week will be Revenge, so while not light, it’ll definitely be cathartic.

The Man and His Daughter Walk Away, Hopefully Forever

Wouldn’t free ketchup actually be commie? Charging for it is very American and capitalist.

Sure, that works most of the time. But I don’t think douche capacity is really a good enough standard. For example, that completely ignores the superiority of douchecanoes in stealth-douche applications.

Well, it’s all about how much it can haul. Obviously, a doucheschooner hauls more than a douchecanoe, though both pale before the douchefreighter.

We’re coming home along the Thruway and decide to stop at McD’s. There’s a woman and smallish kid in front of us getting huffy and I can tell this won’t end well. And in due time she starts yelling at the cashier, “Why is everything more expensive here? This is ridiculous! You’re ripping people off!” and so on, as the…

My last restaurant was the best because the cook was a redhead. Nobody trying to pull the “hair on my food” trick ever got it right! One manager would even pull him out onto the floor to prove it to jackhat customers. It gave me warm fuzzies seeing those scam artists deflated.

I am going to shame the hell out of the first Pinkham’s Law comment.

We had one family friend that I just stopped going to restaurants with because he was such a tool, complaining about every aspect of the meal. (To make matters worse, he was actually a really good cook himself, which meant he could find fault with any damn thing.) My Mother would go with him occasionally, but she…

Starbucks scammer, street eating scumbags, both drive thru biatches.

This entitled housewife looks back at her impressionable child and calmly says “She is yelling because that girl deserves it, the service is terrible every time we come here.” And then she looked me straight in the eyes.