<p><strong>GIVE ME MOAR BABIES </strong></p><p><strong>by Angelina Jolie</strong></p><p>GIVE ME MOARR BABIES NOWS! NEED MORE BABIES YES YES YES. please please more more now yes YES.</p><p>Give me give ME GIVE MEEEEEEEEEE!</p><p>Need WANT must HAVE NOW babies!</p><p>Oh my FUCKING god do IT give them to me.</p><p>NOT ENOUGH! NOT ENOUGH!</p>
<p><strong>"Hey Everyone, I'm Sorry I'm Really Fat, Ugly, Creepy kind of, And Not Funny"</strong></p><p><em>by Drew Carey</em></p><p><img src="/files/u40/Drew-Carey_0.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="303" /> </p>
<p>Let me slowly put a long, dripping, juicy popsicle in between your soft, waiting, pink lips.</p><p>I'll slide it in there so soft at first. Soooo soft. It'll feel good for both of us, I'm guessing. And really, that's all I want in the whole world, for you to be satisfied.</p>
<p>I'm not one to complain, but what kind of coke dealer was that, man? Seriously, where were that guy's manners? He didn't even thank me when I handed him the $150, or say "I'll probably give this to charity, or the homeless."</p>
<p><em>A middle-aged British man wearing a tan suit enters a small store. It's either like a convenience store or like a small pet shop. There's a middle-aged man standing behind an old-fashioned cash register, whistling.</em></p><p><em>The customer starts talking to the cashier.</em> </p><p>"Cheers, mate, my name is Sir Reginald Pennington the 6th, per chance could you help me out?"</p>
<p><u><strong>BRISTOL: CALL ME (920) 644-4650</strong></u></p><p><strong>[NOTE: This love letter is for Bristol Hussein Palin's eyes only. I left a message on her voicemail (seriously...keep reading) directing her to this website. I want her to know how much I love her and care for her, so I am writing this for her.</strong></p>
<p>Dear Poison Control,</p><p>Let me start out by saying you guys are a bunch of <strong>DICKS</strong>. I know you think you're doing a service to the citizens of the United States of America, but that is <strong>100% BULLSHIT</strong>.</p><p>If you think you PRICKS can control <em>the greatest band on the face of God's green Earth</em>, then you've got another thing coming: my fist.</p>
<p>Sweetheart, listen, this isn't working out. I know it's only been two days and you love me (your words, not mine), but we have to break up. </p><p>You said you wanted to take things slow. I guess we have differing definitions of "slow," because I figured you meant fool around and have sex and kinda go easy on the whole "relationship" thing at first. You know, take it slow. </p>
Yo, man, this gas chamber is <em>weeeaaakk</em>. Let's blow this joint. You down for some T. Bell?<p>This is a total sausage fest. Dude, did you see that pile of naked dudes out back? Fags.</p><p>Let's get outta here. I haven't seen a keg yet.</p><p>Hitler throws the WORST gas chambers.</p><p>I'm so glad I pre-gamed.</p>
<p>Hello, nice to meet you.</p><p>Oh -- these are my balls, Vincent and Rosalinda.</p><p>No, no, <em>that</em> one's Vincent. Don't shake someone's hand if you don't know their name!</p><p>Let me tell you all about my balls.</p>
<p>(<em>4 o'clock in the morning. A doctor comes out to the waiting room. He is frowning and avoids eye contact with the person he is coming to talk to. She knows what he is going to say from his body language. Her eyes start to water. She starts choking up and looks up at him through teary eyes as he comes near.)</em></p><p>"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'm so sorry."</p>
<p>As they say in Vietnam (<em><strong>if those giddamn Charlie spoke English</strong></em>), the silence is deafening.</p><p>You could cut the tension with a butcher knife, and just keep cutting 'til all you see is blood. Er....I mean...</p><p>I look across the table at Laura, just a few feet away. She's so kinda beautiful. Her earrings, her make-up, her avoidance of eye contact.</p>