Odds are engineered based on information heard through the thin walls and air vents of my unit during the previous night’s argument.
Tweet tweet, motherfucker.
When I kiss my son goodnight and wish him sweet dreams, he’ll respond “Yippee-ki-yay, Motherfucker!”
I am keeping this thing alive! I’m a genius! I should be given some sort of humanitarian prize!
Is there any living, breathing human that actually ENJOYS these sites?
I helped my father install crown-molding in our dining room.
“I’m actually taking an improv class led by a friend of my wife’s at the local Jewish Community Center. It’s kind of challenging, but I think I have a knack for it.”
He’s weirdly obsessed with happy couples and thinks love is bullshit.