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Drunk texting is apparently one of the habits of a millennial, according to the media. That is so not true of my Janie. When she is drunk she can never find her phone.
The mood is erotic, as an IKEA lap shines on the nightstand, the kids are at a sleepover, and "Now That’s What I Call Music 51" plays that one song you like.
Change the Wi-Fi password to a new verse of the Sermon on the Mount every day. Repeat until they have memorized it. Then move on to the Book of Job.
Make a pact with yourself to send 10,000 tweets every day. Write down this goal on paper and put it some place where you will see it every day, such as your bathroom.
Your cat views you as its food whore and excretion technician during the day. At night, your cat sits in the dark like an egg-laying hen, fantasizing your end days.
What sort of name is Court anyway? I mean, do ruffians play that uncouth game of basketball on you? Do they? I mean come on, that's a stupid name.
If you took Fenodoxline for depression, chances are you're going to get sadder. If you took Fenodoxline for foot cramps, there is a high chance you'll lose your hands.
Thanks to customers like you, we are proving that there is no point in using your hand when you can put your dick directly into a silicone tube.
Despite our inherent negativity, we remain a generally courteous people. But the following heinous crimes against our great United Kingdom generate genuine hostility.
Follow these three pillars of proper comportment, and you'll become the calming object of admiration well before the crowning moment of dilatation.
It's not because your hair is so bad in the morning that dainty bunnies have tried to mate with it. Thankfully, it's everything else wrong with you.
Your job this year is to ruin Thanksgiving for everybody. Here are three simple steps to accomplish that: complain, criticize, and be aloof.