If God wanted me down there, He wouldn’t have made curtains of meat to made to hide something, which is —incidentally— also a new slogan at Arby’s. Arby’s Curtains of Meat To Hide Something.

If there really were justice, but there isn’t. Womp. Womp.

There’s a ton of dudes like that. You just need to shop around. We all have Mommy issues that are incarnated in different ways. Unrelated: Are you a brunette who smokes?

It’s not that women can ejaculate, it’s that they shouldn’t. It’s unnatural, and God doesn’t make mistakes. It’s the same reason I can’t eat a beef and cheddar at Arby’s. Arby’s: God’s Wrath Made Manifest Through Meat.

WWJD? I don’t know exactly, but apparently he’d do it doggy style.

Look —death stalks us all, is inevitable and makes everything inherently meaningless. You might as well just take solace in the fact this story let’s us all demonstrate that we have BA’s by using some form of “defenestration”in a sentence or two.

I mean, if it affects a lurching to the right even further of the Republicans before 2016 —that’s not bad. It’s not like congress was going to do anything anyway, and I think Dems win in a shutdown.

IF you didn’t get it, I already ruined the joke —and asking is the only way people learn. Later on in Tommy, if I remember, there’s a song about him going to the mirror, and then smashing it. I haven’t listened to that whole thing in too long though, so I might be way the fuck off.

You’re welcome. Any time. Smash the mirror.

But Naledi doesn’t know what day it is.He doesn’t know who Jesus was or what praying is.How can he be saved? From the eternal grave.

Yo, lil hippie loved a lot of embarrassing things too; you live, you learn, and you never give up on, or forget Alanis.

What’s ironic is that I considered my eyes “unrapeable” until the “money hustle” that was Major Payne. Thanks for In Living Color, please leave now.

Yeah.

Yup. She’s mine, and maybe the king’d on the first night —but, like, in the modern day —that’s just my best bro. Bros share.

“Accurate. You see that ring. That means she’s my property and I own her.”

Funny, but I was referencing the maybe-myth-maybe-story about his shortest story. That only had 6 words, something like: “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.” —Not, like EH’s specific gun.

“Hi! We’re the fucking police, and don’t forget. We still hate bitches.”

Good for you! (Sincerely)

I came to in a hotel room that was not my own or the person with whom I was drinking’s. We were doing shots, sitting —facing each other and sitting on opposite beds —where people were sleeping to get up early for an academic conference (of which we too were a part). Apparently we finished the handle of vodka and had…

I’d hide the shotgun if I were you; on the other hand the saddest and shortest story in the world is: Suicidal Man’s Shotgun for sale: unused.