Every day the farmer moans about how he’s worried he’ll have no crops to sell this year and won't be able to afford his mortgage, blah blah blah.
Since #MeToo, most men have ceased screaming sexually explicit compliments from the open windows of their turbo-charged street shuttles.
Don’t tell me I have no standards. I wouldn’t date a slice of bread. That’s like, basically no bread!
I sent another text last night. I get that 3 AM is late, but that’s why I made all of you set your text tones to the sound of your children crying!
Of course, he was pursuing a shoddy, ill-conceived attempt to normalize relations with North Korea: it would be a great honeymoon spot.
Can you stop this off-key, off-off-off-Broadway show before the woman who says you aren’t good enough for her son plugs in her karaoke machine?
Every time I ask who such-and-such is, I get a ludicrously fake pun answer like a G-rated version of a Bart Simpson prank call.
I mean who hasn’t punched their roommate’s mother because Saturn was in Cancer? I'm not sure how else anyone would have expected me to act.
And yes, before you ask, this is the best I could come up with---I mean, what was supposed to do? Not break into your house and steal a bunch of shit?
Please, I'm begging you to let me hold those knobs in my hands. I want to hear the sound of that little soccer ball dropping onto the table.
Pour the wine, light the fire/Girl your wish is my command* *Theirs is an equal exchange of pleasure, because it's about consent!
A lot of people will call into question whether or not attacking robots in a theme restaurant can be considered a sport.