Emails of the week have been kinda weak lately.  Today’s starts with a hangover at a diner and doesnt end with someone browning out in their pants, so disappointing.  More shitting pants, please.

Sitting. But the question that haunts me is “Do you check the paper, or pretend to “know” when you’re clean?” I say “pretend” because I’ve had 2 girlfriends I’ve had to inform that their bungholes didn’t smell nice during doggy style, and lo and behold, they were both of the “pretend to know” ilk. CHECK YOUR DAMNED…

Holy moly, Manning’s head in profile looks like it belongs half buried on a polynesian island.

I’ve been in the field studying the American Plumlee population for the last decade. It is no easy thing. I’ve tranquilized and tagged nearly 300 adult male Plumlees during my time in the wild. I’ve counted thousands more on “trap cameras” set up in arenas and around private colleges. My best estimate as to the size…

Still shot of the incident as it occurred:

Please tell me you shoved the chicken carcass into a pot of water to make stock for hot dog soup.

Friends, here I am in my hat and my bones are now sand. I try to make the club push the ball to the flat circle and all I get is a twist and a screech and oops my liver has divorced itself from my body and now lives in Malibu with a beautiful husband named Rick. I drove my helicopter to my private swinging course and…