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I've had enough of your shit. Not sure why I accepted the previous shipments. Guess I figured, why not, free shit. But that's all over now.
My browser said it could erase my history, so I chose high school.
Pronouncing the names of unfamiliar Republicans can be tricky. Just remember that the lust for male prostitutes is silent.
The people who get paid to put their hands into our bodies seem to be inordinately preoccupied with golf. I don't understand the connection.
Your folksy, anecdote-themed commecial has changed my mind. I do trust you after all, faceless corporation.
Ids say the darndest things.
It's not about stars or followers. It's about sneaking into people's homes and rearranging their sock drawers.
I know, surprised me too.
We live in the information age. The big challenge is not raising awareness. The challenge is raising give-a-shit-ness.
Maybe cows sound like that because their batteries are low.
Okay, I splurged a little and got a paper shredder but it's so going to be worth it not having to pay bills anymore.
I bet life was so much easier when serving size was simply how much of the kill you could stuff in your face before the hyenas showed up.
I came here to share my love and make 80's songs get stuck in your head. And I'm all out of love.
Of all the things that come out of our bodies babies are probably the most likely to be photographed.
Removing an incidental word from a classic is outrageous! Now please excuse me while I go to worship with the latest version of the Bible.
"Why does it feel better to have my tongue in someone else's mouth?" -- and other things I don't ask my dentist anymore.
The cat seems pretty concerned with hygiene for someone who never leaves the house.
At some point, my grandmother stopped admiring how big I was getting.
That split second when you know you've dropped something heavy on your toe, but the pain hasn't yet reached your brain. Live there.
I belong to 5 grocery loyalty programs. Essentially my loyalty means nothing. Still, the programs aren't out there curing cancer either.
James Brown and Marcel Proust, they're hugging, crying, talking softly on a park bench, holding hands. Joyous laughter, big surprised smiles.
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