Many years ago at the group home for developmentally disabled teens where I worked there was a resident who really, really wanted to go to the best steak house in the city for his 18th birthday. He had behavior and anger issues, but was determined to earn that birthday dinner, and he managed it. So another staff…

but she didn’t do ANY fucking rolling over for the candidates. also she chirped ITS OVER after and it was the best.

Can we send them bootstraps?

YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAM MOUTH FINGERS WITH THE TYPING.

I can tolerate a little coffee in things like pumpernickel bread where it’s mostly used for color, not flavor. But yes, I agree: don’t mess up perfectly good chocolate or pumpkin with coffee! (Even in something like ice cream.)

Indeed, he's not much of a jump roper!

All lies.

Finally! Someone else who hates the smell (and taste) of coffee! My friends think I’m crazy because I hate to go to coffee shops at all because they stink of coffee. Yes, I know you can get chai lattes (and those are nice), but you have to get them to go because the shop still smells like coffee. You get it!

Hi, Tracey! I like tea, too!

It would be a lot better for me personally if it yelled things like “SHOE SALE!!”

I refuse to believe anyone could actually try to defend pepperoni lady. I mean, for fuck’s sake.

More proof that religion and ANYTHING are completely incompatible...

Meth Damon.

And the wind whispers, “donkey sauce...donkey sauce...”

I need to print the one out about the three-year-old peeing into a cup and paste it all over the walls of the bathroom. If a three-year-old can pee in a cup, grown ass men can sure as shit pee without spraying all over the walls, floor, and (memorably) ceiling.

I couldn’t if I fried. Honey mustard if I get crustless. Baby you’re not that brined.

he’d been allowed to play as part of a “one-time supervised part of a rehabilitation process”

I just took up surfing. At 42. And, yes, I pepper my conversations with the word “stoked.”

Fuck, at 44, I should just kill myself. I’m one foot in the grave with the other on the edge.

Six days before my 42nd birthday was not when I needed to read this.