“You know what you're problem is? You're putting the pussy on a pedestal.”
And I was…
Why was I putting this hypothetical vagina on sacred ground?
Are women not people just like you and me? (Well, not JUST LIKE you and me….but they are just regular people)
This is a lesson that I have learned, and wish I had earlier.
Girls DO fart.
Girls DO poo.
Girls do nasty things that I do and even though they may hide it better, they are not sexy robots sent from the future without digestive systems and the life goal of pleasuring men. (Half true)
The fact that a girl would fart always seemed taboo to me. I didn’t wanna see it. I didn’t wanna hear it. I most certainly wanted to smell it. I mean…. Well, there’s no editing allowed in this blog so, I digress. I just digressed a little in my pants….what was I saying? OH. I always wanted to just pretend that girls were these ominous beings that looked pretty, smelled great and frankly just remained the best they could be at all times. This can get you into trouble, you see. Can YOU compete with someone who can eat 2 tacos and not let out a little putt putt, its ok, oops my cd just skipped and everyone just heard you let one rip? Well I can’t, and I’m me…I had a little coffee, so I’m gonna digress again…
So what did this all entail? Well, the comparison between a guy and girl was just unfair. It was Roger Federer vs. anyone but Nadal. It was Bugs Bunny vs anyone but the Monstars. It was like the blind woman that represents law, but pushed over and taken advantage of (with a gavel!). Just unfair.
So how am I going to get a girl when she’s so much better than me. This isn’t a Seth Rogen movie. Plus that guys fucking hilarious. I’m good, but I am not superbad, though I can dance…
Take a look around though. There are very few good looking males. And a lot of couples. So why are all these pitiful men with beautiful, slightly below average in terms of intelligence women? The reason is simple and in the title of this god-forsaken blog entry. Girls—wait for it—I hope you’re not lactose intolerant because I just bought you some expensive milk chocolate—and that would be really bad because—Girls POO!
EUR-mother F*&^%(ng---No! Your Mother Fu—EKA
That’s secret twelve of life. Can you believe it?
So the next time you walk up to a girl who you think is too good looking for you, which is likely most if not all of them, just remind yourself: “She poos too, just like you. And that just rhymed so you know its true. She might also be as bad as you with toilet paper and get it all over her hands and then realize she’s out of soap, then hang out with you.”
………
Just hope she rejects you like she should.
Good luck and eat your beans.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thinkers and Doers
I was about to write this entry into the blogosphere, coming up with some quirky ideas, when I actually had an example occur during the process. More in a minute.
There are thinkers and there are doers. I am a thinker. I rarely do. I’d like to do. My brain for some reason does not want me to do, rather it would like to gain the experience points by thinking about it. This is why my brain is a level 23 Lich King, while I’m a level 8 noob feeder.
A shout out to the gays.
Anyhway, something comes to pass. One person will ask why it happens, another will respond.
A possibility for something to happen comes to pass. One guy asks himself “could or will this happen?”, the other MAKES it happen.
I am the first, trying to become the second person. Why? Because I’m sick of thinking, while I could be doing. I’d like to get in better shape, but thinking about what I can or cannot do in order to make that happen won’t actually make that happen. If it could, I’d be ripped like Stein on a Saturday, but in a muscular way.
So what happened while I was about to write this? Brief synopsis:
§ Grade 9, hung out with burnouts
§ Beautiful girl in group, dated a guy 3 years older and then the guy who enjoyed going to westmount to break jaws, literally. Also, the second guy punched a girl in the face, in school, with hundreds of witnesses.
§ Girl left school for new school
§ I see her in one of my classes last year. Still beautiful, hanging out with non-douches.
§ Didn’t say hi to her once…(Mostly because there was no chance, Jenna was in my class and we all know how that must have been like…[There was a chance, that was a joke, mostly])
So Facebook tells me I might know this person, literally 7 minutes ago. Its that girl. Have I lost my chance? Who knows. Should I add her anyway, ask if she was in my class last year, if she even remembers me, and play dumb or state how dumb I was or am? Probably, who cares! What bad can happen? I didn’t do it. I should’ve right away in keeping with my preaching. There’s nothing to lose! To count my opportunity losses due to overthinking and not doing, I would need a fucking graphing calculator.
If Bill Haverchuck can make out with Vicki Appleby in a closet, so can I!
Figuratively speaking of course. I can’t yet manipulate the space time continuum or enter the television world, though it would be strange living for 30 minutes every week…
On the bright side, I did 45 minutes of cardio today. Step 1 to a better bod. How can it be better you ask? I know, right! But you’ll see. Step 2 (crunches) is the next goal. If I could only get out of this chair…
There are thinkers and there are doers. I am a thinker. I rarely do. I’d like to do. My brain for some reason does not want me to do, rather it would like to gain the experience points by thinking about it. This is why my brain is a level 23 Lich King, while I’m a level 8 noob feeder.
A shout out to the gays.
Anyhway, something comes to pass. One person will ask why it happens, another will respond.
A possibility for something to happen comes to pass. One guy asks himself “could or will this happen?”, the other MAKES it happen.
I am the first, trying to become the second person. Why? Because I’m sick of thinking, while I could be doing. I’d like to get in better shape, but thinking about what I can or cannot do in order to make that happen won’t actually make that happen. If it could, I’d be ripped like Stein on a Saturday, but in a muscular way.
So what happened while I was about to write this? Brief synopsis:
§ Grade 9, hung out with burnouts
§ Beautiful girl in group, dated a guy 3 years older and then the guy who enjoyed going to westmount to break jaws, literally. Also, the second guy punched a girl in the face, in school, with hundreds of witnesses.
§ Girl left school for new school
§ I see her in one of my classes last year. Still beautiful, hanging out with non-douches.
§ Didn’t say hi to her once…(Mostly because there was no chance, Jenna was in my class and we all know how that must have been like…[There was a chance, that was a joke, mostly])
So Facebook tells me I might know this person, literally 7 minutes ago. Its that girl. Have I lost my chance? Who knows. Should I add her anyway, ask if she was in my class last year, if she even remembers me, and play dumb or state how dumb I was or am? Probably, who cares! What bad can happen? I didn’t do it. I should’ve right away in keeping with my preaching. There’s nothing to lose! To count my opportunity losses due to overthinking and not doing, I would need a fucking graphing calculator.
If Bill Haverchuck can make out with Vicki Appleby in a closet, so can I!
Figuratively speaking of course. I can’t yet manipulate the space time continuum or enter the television world, though it would be strange living for 30 minutes every week…
On the bright side, I did 45 minutes of cardio today. Step 1 to a better bod. How can it be better you ask? I know, right! But you’ll see. Step 2 (crunches) is the next goal. If I could only get out of this chair…
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Entry 3....Entry 2s replacement
As some of you may be aware of, I had posted a second entry yesterday. I'd like to say that it was taken off of the internet just in case my goal of taking over the world had become a reality, and thus the entry would leave a trail of bread crumbs and lead to my demise.....but instead I decided that it simply did not personify this glorious work of art. If you did read it, like I did, you became uninterested after the half way point. Those of you who showed me support, and stated that the entry was actually good, you disappoint me. Even more, I am disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen. (Note: The part about Brian Liebtog was true blog material. Have you seen that guy? That part was OK)
Let it be known, I will never again write while not in the sacred writing zone, but more importantly, undermine the integrity of my writing to please others. I will shout from roof tops! Let it be heard! I write to please no body but myself (such as my personal erotic one man tales starring Jeff Goldblum)! Furthermore, I vow not to take any performance enhancing drugs no matter what the current culture of blogging tells me (take that Arod!)!—unless it’s really good like the Beatles stuff on LSD--- I will continue to elaborate on thoughts I have that probably don’t interest others, but hey, you have nothing better to do, I assume. You’re just on facebook, maybe stalking a few people, checking out some pictures from the weekend, maybe you just added a friend and you’re seeing if they have some cute friends that hopefully you can meet soon because you’ve been pretty bored lately, and that club scene just isn’t your thing. Its all dirty and sweaty, not to mention the bad music. And man!, are there a lot of ugly, disgusting people!. You don’t want to meet someone at a club! You dry hump for a few songs and realize hey, this person (guy/girl) is slutty, but everyone else is just as slutty, let’s try dancing with them too, because the more people I dance with, the more fun. But then you go home and you lie down in bed with your bottle of water, turn on the tv but there’s nothing on but weird movies from the ‘90s, and you think to yourself…”that muffin top was huge!”, “that girl couldn’t dance, but she sure loved rubbing her butt on me, which isn’t THAT attractive”, “that couple essentially had sex on the dance floor, but without any good stuff, poor guy”, “I’m glad I’m not a chick anymore”, “why did I spend $7 on Mexican pee?”, etc. You then analyze your life. What’s wrong with you?! “It was just a fun night out, the old “no strings” and all that shit”, you say to yourself. You’re not a clubber, you’re looking for a nice guy who likes to read and watch foreign films. Well guess what! He was at the club dry humping your sister! BAM! And your sister has an STD! WHAT?! Could this get any worse?! She wore your skirt, and then ate the last of your Eggo waffles the next morning! Oh yes I did! Then you go on facebook, again! You’re looking at pictures of people you don’t even recognize because you were trashed last night, and they had 72 strobe lights going off (Luckily, because those chicks were pretty nasty—did you see the girl wearing the leopard? Which one you ask? My point exactly!) Now you’re thinking, well, me and my friends just like dancing…that’s why we’re there. You’re not wrong….but you’re stupid, oh and WRONG! Theoretical question: When a bear rubs his ass against a tree, is it considered dancing?
Play these two videos at the same time. Mute the people's video and watch them go!
Look Familiar??
Sexy!!!
“This photo’s pretty good though” you think to yourself, maybe its your new DP. I would like to DP you with my fists! Get off facebook during class and pay attention! You can write all over every wall you want to at home! But you just wanna say you had such a good time seeing your friends (in a high pitched, ‘like we danced up a storm and whatever’ voice). You’re going to see them in like 3 hours!! Is it really necessary?! I hope you enjoy making plans to stand in a circle, entertaining yourselves by defending against guys who want to “dance” with you, until there’s one disgusting douche that you think “man, I really wanna rub my butt against his beer-stained crotch…I hope the rug matches his dreads. Is that even possible?! You haven’t seen this douche. But you have seen his close relatives; too rowdy, too cool, guy who licks his lips as he walks up to you, guy who makes you bend over while “dancing”, bathroom guy who makes you pay for him to hand you a fucking piece of paper towel while quietly saying “respec, respec, respec,”….over and over until you can’t stand it anymore and you consider bottling him while no ones looking, and that guy who gets on a platform or pole. Why must we have platforms or poles anyway? Oh yeah, so girls can “dance”. You’re not fooling anyone ‘wannabe sluts’. We know who you are, and you cannot dance. Also, your shirt should cover that belly. You also cannot pull off those heels, you don’t know how to walk in them.
Then you look at your invites, and you’re like “man, I do not want to go to a club ever again.” But its an event at a different club, so maybe there’s better music or people. But that place is playing Paper Planes and has everyone shooting in the air and taking everyone’s money too! It’s almost as bad as that Grammy performance. Luckily, the club doesn’t have a pregnant woman about to burst on the stage, it just has some douche DJ who doesn’t do anything but play cds that were made in 2002, when the songs were “classics”. At least he’s not flashing a G string to make some money, although I would appreciate that more than the female bartender upstairs at the bar in the corner.
Sorry, I got a little off topic. Basically, I’m not writing to please others. I’d like to share my thoughts with you, and I hope they are entertaining, or at least time consuming for my fellow procrastinators. I would feel ashamed that I already had to delete an entry, but that kind of brought me into this new entry, so all is good….in the hood.
ALSO I would like to thank the one person who told me that my last entry sucked. Thanks a lot asshole.
Note:
I realize the irony of making fun of the use of facebook in a post on facebook. Next time I hope to use a more uncommon poetic device, such as pathetic fallacy.
ALSO
I should have made fun of the guy who tries to get a girl to “wheel barrel” as a dance, but he’s my roommate and very sensitive.
Answer to theoretical question:
Yes. That bear dropped it like its hot before you had a tail feather to shake (but are terrible at it anyway).
But I am not....
Let it be known, I will never again write while not in the sacred writing zone, but more importantly, undermine the integrity of my writing to please others. I will shout from roof tops! Let it be heard! I write to please no body but myself (such as my personal erotic one man tales starring Jeff Goldblum)! Furthermore, I vow not to take any performance enhancing drugs no matter what the current culture of blogging tells me (take that Arod!)!—unless it’s really good like the Beatles stuff on LSD--- I will continue to elaborate on thoughts I have that probably don’t interest others, but hey, you have nothing better to do, I assume. You’re just on facebook, maybe stalking a few people, checking out some pictures from the weekend, maybe you just added a friend and you’re seeing if they have some cute friends that hopefully you can meet soon because you’ve been pretty bored lately, and that club scene just isn’t your thing. Its all dirty and sweaty, not to mention the bad music. And man!, are there a lot of ugly, disgusting people!. You don’t want to meet someone at a club! You dry hump for a few songs and realize hey, this person (guy/girl) is slutty, but everyone else is just as slutty, let’s try dancing with them too, because the more people I dance with, the more fun. But then you go home and you lie down in bed with your bottle of water, turn on the tv but there’s nothing on but weird movies from the ‘90s, and you think to yourself…”that muffin top was huge!”, “that girl couldn’t dance, but she sure loved rubbing her butt on me, which isn’t THAT attractive”, “that couple essentially had sex on the dance floor, but without any good stuff, poor guy”, “I’m glad I’m not a chick anymore”, “why did I spend $7 on Mexican pee?”, etc. You then analyze your life. What’s wrong with you?! “It was just a fun night out, the old “no strings” and all that shit”, you say to yourself. You’re not a clubber, you’re looking for a nice guy who likes to read and watch foreign films. Well guess what! He was at the club dry humping your sister! BAM! And your sister has an STD! WHAT?! Could this get any worse?! She wore your skirt, and then ate the last of your Eggo waffles the next morning! Oh yes I did! Then you go on facebook, again! You’re looking at pictures of people you don’t even recognize because you were trashed last night, and they had 72 strobe lights going off (Luckily, because those chicks were pretty nasty—did you see the girl wearing the leopard? Which one you ask? My point exactly!) Now you’re thinking, well, me and my friends just like dancing…that’s why we’re there. You’re not wrong….but you’re stupid, oh and WRONG! Theoretical question: When a bear rubs his ass against a tree, is it considered dancing?
Play these two videos at the same time. Mute the people's video and watch them go!
Look Familiar??
Sexy!!!
“This photo’s pretty good though” you think to yourself, maybe its your new DP. I would like to DP you with my fists! Get off facebook during class and pay attention! You can write all over every wall you want to at home! But you just wanna say you had such a good time seeing your friends (in a high pitched, ‘like we danced up a storm and whatever’ voice). You’re going to see them in like 3 hours!! Is it really necessary?! I hope you enjoy making plans to stand in a circle, entertaining yourselves by defending against guys who want to “dance” with you, until there’s one disgusting douche that you think “man, I really wanna rub my butt against his beer-stained crotch…I hope the rug matches his dreads. Is that even possible?! You haven’t seen this douche. But you have seen his close relatives; too rowdy, too cool, guy who licks his lips as he walks up to you, guy who makes you bend over while “dancing”, bathroom guy who makes you pay for him to hand you a fucking piece of paper towel while quietly saying “respec, respec, respec,”….over and over until you can’t stand it anymore and you consider bottling him while no ones looking, and that guy who gets on a platform or pole. Why must we have platforms or poles anyway? Oh yeah, so girls can “dance”. You’re not fooling anyone ‘wannabe sluts’. We know who you are, and you cannot dance. Also, your shirt should cover that belly. You also cannot pull off those heels, you don’t know how to walk in them.
Then you look at your invites, and you’re like “man, I do not want to go to a club ever again.” But its an event at a different club, so maybe there’s better music or people. But that place is playing Paper Planes and has everyone shooting in the air and taking everyone’s money too! It’s almost as bad as that Grammy performance. Luckily, the club doesn’t have a pregnant woman about to burst on the stage, it just has some douche DJ who doesn’t do anything but play cds that were made in 2002, when the songs were “classics”. At least he’s not flashing a G string to make some money, although I would appreciate that more than the female bartender upstairs at the bar in the corner.
Sorry, I got a little off topic. Basically, I’m not writing to please others. I’d like to share my thoughts with you, and I hope they are entertaining, or at least time consuming for my fellow procrastinators. I would feel ashamed that I already had to delete an entry, but that kind of brought me into this new entry, so all is good….in the hood.
ALSO I would like to thank the one person who told me that my last entry sucked. Thanks a lot asshole.
Note:
I realize the irony of making fun of the use of facebook in a post on facebook. Next time I hope to use a more uncommon poetic device, such as pathetic fallacy.
ALSO
I should have made fun of the guy who tries to get a girl to “wheel barrel” as a dance, but he’s my roommate and very sensitive.
Answer to theoretical question:
Yes. That bear dropped it like its hot before you had a tail feather to shake (but are terrible at it anyway).
But I am not....
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Entry 1
I don’t think I have the need to introduce myself, because , although my blog is destined to be the most popular website in world, there will be 3 people reading it for the first 8 years. Of the 3 people, one will be a family member (who will stop reading after the first entry), one will be a friend (who thinks I’m hilarious), and the last will be one of my roommates (keep in mind I have 3 who could show me support, but would rather watch streamed videos). To those of you who accept my link but never open it, I pity you, but even more I pity myself for being associated with you. Too harsh? Doesn’t matter because they’ll likely never see this.
I’d like to start off with a recent interview I did with an anonymous interviewer:
Your name?: My friends call me Mort.
Is that an invitation to be your friend?: *wink*
Was that a wink?: No, my eye twitches when I’m nervous or when I have to pee.
How old are you?: You coming on to me, or starting a fight? *blank stare* I’ve been very confused by that lately. I’m mature at a 50 year old’s level, but have the mindset of a man in his late 20s or early 30s, and have the goals of an immature 13 year old girl. Oh, and libido of a wild stallion….in heat…in the summer….somewhere near the equator….right around Cinqo di maio.
I have no idea as to what that could mean: I’m complicated.
What would you like to do in the future?: The obvious answers are drive flying cars, time travel, and obtaining super powers to fight injustices of the world (including but not limited to: tube tops on bigger girls, skinny jeans on larger guys, and most importantly, making the drivers who don’t wave when you let them in learn their lesson.) I would also like to go back to the future.
To be continued….
February 5, 2009.
Location: Ryerson University, business building
Time: Approximately 2:37 p.m.
I dropped my cell phone while walking in school today. I didn’t realize it. Luckily, a fellow student took the time to pick it up and bring it to me. He couldn’t have walked more than 20 feet to catch up to me. He then proceeded to yell at me. “You dropped your phone!” he exclaimed. I wondered why he would yell at me, but regardless, I smiled and said “Thank you!” He then gave me a dirty look, and walked away slowly, I can only assume to make the scene more dramatic. Maybe next time I will try NOT to drop my phone by accident, and try NOT to walk away unknowingly, by accident. Has the role of ‘Good Samaritan’ become so difficult for this person that he must now yell at people that he is trying to help? I hope so, you angry bastard, wherever you are (second floor of business building). I bet you were just extremely disappointed because it was a Bell phone, and your sim card wouldn’t work. You couldn’t just take the back of the phone off, and slip your dirty disgusting sim card into my phone’s special area. Maybe you should have tried to date rape it like you usually do, you son of a bitch. You make me nauseous to the point where if I want to throw up, I could if I tried. And then maybe I would use that as an excuse not to go to work, because I REALLY don’t feel like going to work. Maybe then I would just go home and play video games all night long with my friends, because regardless of the abuse you’ve taken due to your long-standing addiction to fetish pornography, playing video games all night IS awesome. Then maybe I would finally get to watch Gran Turino, because it’s been on my tv stand waiting for me for about a week. It is desperate now to the point where it’s sitting there all ready to go and its like, “come on mort, come to bed, just me and you, im ready for you big boy”. And Im like “shut up bitch, I’m busy. You’re a fat cow and unattractive anyway, no one wants to see you”. That wouldn’t be true, because it got great reviews. Then it would cry, and pack its bags when I was in the bathroom, and move back to its mothers place. I’d start drinking again. My friends would try to help me, but I’m a lost cause. I would try to get her back, but she would reject me, saying I need to clean myself up and such. I would try, REALLY try. I’d start the program, get into the steps, but we both knew it wouldn’t last. I’d call crying, not saying any real words. It would sound like a child; a big, drunk, lonely child, who needs to shower, but contrary to societies views prefers baths. My rubber ducky would go missing, and then things would go bananas. I’d go on a killing spree, known only as the santa claus of death (I would not have a white beard or be very fat at this point, so it would be a very confusing name). Eventually, the police would find me in a tim hortons getting an iced capp because I would also be addicted to those delicious cups of heaven. The cops would say “you’re coming with us bad santa!”, and I would respond “that was a pretty good movie!!!” but in a slurred high pitch voice. They would sentence me to life and I would die in a pool of horse urine and key lime pie. Is that what you want ‘“Good” Samaritan’? Is that how the story’s gonna play out? Another poor soul dead in bloody horse urine? Fuck you. Next time don’t pick up the phone.
Stay tuned for such topics as Can anyone dance anymore?, If an arm pit spoke..., and Why can't escalator hand rails go the same speed as the steps?
I’d like to start off with a recent interview I did with an anonymous interviewer:
Your name?: My friends call me Mort.
Is that an invitation to be your friend?: *wink*
Was that a wink?: No, my eye twitches when I’m nervous or when I have to pee.
How old are you?: You coming on to me, or starting a fight? *blank stare* I’ve been very confused by that lately. I’m mature at a 50 year old’s level, but have the mindset of a man in his late 20s or early 30s, and have the goals of an immature 13 year old girl. Oh, and libido of a wild stallion….in heat…in the summer….somewhere near the equator….right around Cinqo di maio.
I have no idea as to what that could mean: I’m complicated.
What would you like to do in the future?: The obvious answers are drive flying cars, time travel, and obtaining super powers to fight injustices of the world (including but not limited to: tube tops on bigger girls, skinny jeans on larger guys, and most importantly, making the drivers who don’t wave when you let them in learn their lesson.) I would also like to go back to the future.
To be continued….
February 5, 2009.
Location: Ryerson University, business building
Time: Approximately 2:37 p.m.
I dropped my cell phone while walking in school today. I didn’t realize it. Luckily, a fellow student took the time to pick it up and bring it to me. He couldn’t have walked more than 20 feet to catch up to me. He then proceeded to yell at me. “You dropped your phone!” he exclaimed. I wondered why he would yell at me, but regardless, I smiled and said “Thank you!” He then gave me a dirty look, and walked away slowly, I can only assume to make the scene more dramatic. Maybe next time I will try NOT to drop my phone by accident, and try NOT to walk away unknowingly, by accident. Has the role of ‘Good Samaritan’ become so difficult for this person that he must now yell at people that he is trying to help? I hope so, you angry bastard, wherever you are (second floor of business building). I bet you were just extremely disappointed because it was a Bell phone, and your sim card wouldn’t work. You couldn’t just take the back of the phone off, and slip your dirty disgusting sim card into my phone’s special area. Maybe you should have tried to date rape it like you usually do, you son of a bitch. You make me nauseous to the point where if I want to throw up, I could if I tried. And then maybe I would use that as an excuse not to go to work, because I REALLY don’t feel like going to work. Maybe then I would just go home and play video games all night long with my friends, because regardless of the abuse you’ve taken due to your long-standing addiction to fetish pornography, playing video games all night IS awesome. Then maybe I would finally get to watch Gran Turino, because it’s been on my tv stand waiting for me for about a week. It is desperate now to the point where it’s sitting there all ready to go and its like, “come on mort, come to bed, just me and you, im ready for you big boy”. And Im like “shut up bitch, I’m busy. You’re a fat cow and unattractive anyway, no one wants to see you”. That wouldn’t be true, because it got great reviews. Then it would cry, and pack its bags when I was in the bathroom, and move back to its mothers place. I’d start drinking again. My friends would try to help me, but I’m a lost cause. I would try to get her back, but she would reject me, saying I need to clean myself up and such. I would try, REALLY try. I’d start the program, get into the steps, but we both knew it wouldn’t last. I’d call crying, not saying any real words. It would sound like a child; a big, drunk, lonely child, who needs to shower, but contrary to societies views prefers baths. My rubber ducky would go missing, and then things would go bananas. I’d go on a killing spree, known only as the santa claus of death (I would not have a white beard or be very fat at this point, so it would be a very confusing name). Eventually, the police would find me in a tim hortons getting an iced capp because I would also be addicted to those delicious cups of heaven. The cops would say “you’re coming with us bad santa!”, and I would respond “that was a pretty good movie!!!” but in a slurred high pitch voice. They would sentence me to life and I would die in a pool of horse urine and key lime pie. Is that what you want ‘“Good” Samaritan’? Is that how the story’s gonna play out? Another poor soul dead in bloody horse urine? Fuck you. Next time don’t pick up the phone.
Stay tuned for such topics as Can anyone dance anymore?, If an arm pit spoke..., and Why can't escalator hand rails go the same speed as the steps?
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