“I think I’ll make an omelet,” said David . “Not without breaking a few eggs,” replied Joshua cattily, signalling the end of that particular civil union.
Pull yourself up by the strap-on, kid. We’re all just some rich guy’s cumbucket now.
I’m the SIDS baby of this NFL survivor pool.
America had never been less ready for Lil Homie Copsucker’s unorthodox lyrical style and message of indiscriminate law enforcement tip lickin’.
“My firm, teen breasts are getting almost too big,” said my screenplay.
What kind of God would allow war, famine, and poops larger than the circumference of my butthole?
There hasn’t been a drinking fountain repair since 1974.
You vowed to love me and only me for eternity. I vowed to always smell vaguely of cigarette smoke and mushrooms. One of us just kept on delivering.
If anyone asks, we’re the home of the best kolaches in the state, not the jerkwater town where they found the bodies of those women.
At this rate, Carrie Underwood’s snatch will be singing the Sunday Night Football promos by mid-season.