Dear Women,
Beds are for fucking, not sleeping.
Okay, for sleeping, but only after fucking.
Love, Men.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Ode To Scotchguard
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About Me, Not You
- The Chief
- I was christened Wannahockaloogy by our tribal leader. He was a bitter old man with throat cancer who believed that, to truly hock a loogie, one must not retrieve the phlegm from the throat, but from the soul. His weakened, delirious state made it easy for me to overthrow him and seize control. Now, I am the chief and I have internet access. Beware, delirious smoking populace. Beware.
1 comment:
may i poop here?
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