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Just yesterday, Sabrina summoned me. “Jesus!” she exclaimed. It sounded important so I flew over, only to find her reading the news on her phone.
I feel like Elvis when he returned to Graceland after 40 years of guiding climbers as a Sherpa in Tibet. That didn’t happen, but you get the point.
I like sex so much, I’ll have it anywhere: a king-sized bed, a queen-sized bed, I’ll even sex on a twin as long as I’m getting punished with sex.
I am a swim coach for kids. That’s right, I spend my shifts in a cesspool of germs and boogers.
Even Ted’s charisma is middle of the road. He’s the type of candidate that you could get a beer with, but choose not to.
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” This really isn't a big deal. It bothered me for a couple thousand years but I’m over it.
Will I ever be able to reach my full potential? Is it too late for me to even start? Which brings us to my first search, "sexy old celebrities."
In exchange for $0 an hour, disillusionment, and occasional sexual harassment, you get a letter of recommendation and two bullet points on a resume.
It is a well-known fact that only the most elite acquire specific, regional, life-threatening diseases as symbols of culture and refinement.
"A badass mama protects her child! Your belly will be full of pilates-toned gristle and blond hair after you’ve mauled Cassie from your mom group."
I’d ask someone to save me from this giant octopus, but how do I know their hands aren’t contaminated?
The 2 things I love most are corduroys with ridges so deep that you can slide a can of Coors Light in there, and making sure my son thinks I’m cool.