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Is that shit in your pickle jar or are you just happy to see me?
Dear Mr. Layne Walton. You have left your twitter open in the library. Despite appearing pretentious, you appear to be alright otherwise.
The Texas hippie sounds like fairy dust when she walks.
All al-Qaeda would have to do to break me is point to a rainy sidewalk crawling with worms and say, "المشي."
My epitaph will most likely read: "Shaved his face with too much zeal."
A German called me the "scariest person ever," so forgive me if I seem a little self-congratulatory for the rest of the day.
Grandma Got Run Over by a Stampede of Orcs
I blame Shania Twain for much of my serial midriff-baring in the late '90s.
I might be ready for a committed relationship but I can't be certain until this antifungal skin treatment is over.
My mom just asked if "To Kill a Mockingbird" is "that Sandra Bullock movie."
Punishment for stealing le Régime's food: losing a hand. (The psychopathic princess cuts it off with her dagger and uses it for witchcraft.)
I've never seen so many jubilant rednecks in my life. Going to wear my Legalize Gay t-shirt around Seaside and rile them up! #FourthofJuly
No one has used the word "pantagruelian" today. No one.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. -- Mary Oliver