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I worry we're nearing a time when the fate of the planet could be altered by someone accidentally hitting send before typing the winkyface.
It turns out I have my shirt on backwards and I'm wearing two different socks. I apologize for being so flamboyant with my heterosexuality.
There there, skinny-bottomed girls. It's entirely conceivable that you play some key role in the machinations of the non-rocking world.
I'm not apathetic. I'm just, you know ... whatever.
Good lord, my beard is completely out of control. Trying to push this sandwich through it reminds me of a '70s porn.
A penis sexting a vagina: "BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. BRB. ..."
I'm guessing the Uncool Ranch Doritos are shaped like squares.
You know how sometimes a bee flies into your car and you almost drive off the road? It was just like that, only I was using the toilet.
You know you're in the South when "towel" has one syllable and "milk" has two.
I'm making a playlist for the office. So far, I have "Fucking Hostile" by Pantera.
So I guess that's finished. On to the expense reports.
I'm at a four-way stop where all four drivers keep waving each other through and nobody goes. I think they call this a Canadian stand-off.
Next Monday I dine at one of the world's finest restaurants. Tonight I use a plastic spoon to eat around the lint in a jar of peanut butter.
This may be a controversial assertion, but all available evidence seems to indicate that Roy G. Biv was a person of color.
I can't remember the technical term for what I just did, but it's where you make a huge mess and there's lots of cursing? Oh, yeah. Cooking.
You know what would make this pizza even better? If life wasn't utterly bereft of meaning.
The cat puked under my bed. Cleanup efforts only made it worse. It's time to renew our commitment to developing alternative sources of cute.
In lieu of breakfast, I just poured bacon bits directly from the jar into my mouth. So now I know what dying alone tastes like.
Did we ever get a definitive answer on the birthplace and eventual destination of Cotton Eyed Joe?
I used to expect passion, skill and a strong work ethic from my colleagues. These days I'll settle for a mercy flush in the office bathroom.
I'd lick the rest of these delicious onion rings so nobody else eats 'em, but that's uncouth, so I'll just hang 'em around my boner instead.
Standard carbon-based lifeform. Writer. Shut-in. Inebriate. Degenerate. Inveterate layabout. Old ladies particularly hate me.