Letters Home From a World War One Fuck Boy
Apparently, we were supposed to defend against an incoming force. But what were we supposed to do, not go party? Saturdays are for the boys!
Apparently, we were supposed to defend against an incoming force. But what were we supposed to do, not go party? Saturdays are for the boys!
When my girlfriend tried to talk with my son, he kept referring to her as “replacement mommy” while jumping up and down pretending to be Peter Rabbit.
You can bet that Alfonso Cuaron is winning Best Director for Roma. It’s as plain as the socks that are still on my feet, babe.
Which teen heartthrob is the spitting image of someone you went to high school with but you can’t place? He definitely looks like someone… but who?
All the bisexual students at Hogwarts were in their own separate, secret house called Smurgendurt. Their house colors were purple and invisible.
Students are not to ask the Steve Jobs hologram any questions pertaining to how much he actually did at Apple as opposed to the engineers.
Dizzy from the amount of sudden cardio of hiking, wobble, and then get hit in the head with a drone, the impact sending you down a sharp embankment.
The Bride of Frankenstein and I actually had a lot in common. Like her, my fiercest critics have also called me an affront to God.
And I don't want to keep harping on the past, but there were a few times when you couldn’t even finish the race. It's embarrassing.
My word. Two penguin stickers here on your side. One surfing. One playing in the sand on the beach. Tells quite a story doesn’t it?
He just pretended to make a phone call where he was trying to return a Blockbuster VHS, for twenty minutes. My girlfriend was laughing so hard.
If you're at a loss for words upon finding the body of your waiter, Miguel, hanging from a meat hook, try to avoid asking obvious questions.