Now That I’ve Started Using a Bidet, I Realize That My Butthole Is Never Where I Think It Is
Each time, I smugly think to myself, “I’m right on this time.” I am not right on. Not ever. It always seems to be further back than I think.
Each time, I smugly think to myself, “I’m right on this time.” I am not right on. Not ever. It always seems to be further back than I think.
I feel like you’ve been kind of distant lately. Hanging out with those new fancy ass moisturizers and toners you bought on sale at Sephora.
The smell is totally normal. Nothing’s leaking. A lot of boats smell like this. It could be all the eggs I’ve been eating lately.
Like, it's actually important, it will only take a second or 30 full minutes, time means nothing to me, I'm 7 shots deep and had lettuce for dinner.
If you need to use the bathroom, it's no problem. Just grab a pair of disposable gloves and follow the tape arrows around to the basement door.
I deserve better than this. I’m elegant. I’m refined. I was handcrafted in Vermont, you barbarian.
"Shameless caffeine addiction" just doesn’t cut it. Chances are you’ve also been avoiding your first screening with a gastroenterologist.
Don’t just stand there, staring at me. You’ve never asked for my consent. I don’t want to be three inches from your swollen uvula.
Paul’s Empty Advil Container That He Repurposed to Hide His State Quarters: Cast the pill bottle aside and fill your pockets with the beautiful coins.
“Be where your enemy is not.” When your roommate occupies the shower, secure the sofa or most comfortable communal chair, as well as the remote.
Weak and easily preyed upon, the Sickly Spotted Woody Pecker has evolved to compensate for its innate physical disadvantages.
My business cards are written on giant chalkboards with a topical joke that changes when I feel like it, and I send all receipts to your email.