We wish you a re-merry Christmas...

I would never marry a lawyer, much less date one. It’s their job to be right. No thanks.

I live in Northern Ontario, and there’s a guy who lives down my street with a big ass decal on his mini van’s back window of some confederate thing and some southern Tennessee slogan. And there’s this shitty little mall with one of those stores that sells all kinds of flags (nations and sports), bed sets, lanyards,…

OMG let it go already, geez.

I don’t like JLaw. I don’t know why! I can’t figure it out! We’ve never met, we never will meet, she’s done nothing to me whatsoever!

I love me some John Cougar Melon Hormone...

Very nice! It does, however, remind me of the whitehouse scam (not to be confused with anything to do with “White House comma Scam”). Buy something, return a few days later with the receipt only, grab the item from the shelf, and return that.

The purpose is no different from when you used to tie your dad’s bathrobe belt around your head and pretend you were one of the Contra guys.

Fahey... a message to you, Fahey...

I loves ma guns... loves ma guns...

So that’s where Idaho is...

They made the font bold, too.

I meant it. There was sarcasm, but it acted as the salt that seasoned my savoury righteousness. Om-nom-nom-nom-nom.

I know, eh? But who’s a Jeh-wit?

Christy Mack cosplay. cooool.

Guess what, people. You’re birthday doesn’t matter. Quit making people pretend they care about the anniversary of your birth. So you didn’t die. Big whoop, you narcissist.

The funny thing is, sex-rehab is marriage with four kids.