"Kink"? Really? Does a branch go up his ass?
I didn't know the Poetry Club had a locker room.
Well, they're getting closer. Yesterday's man had a club foot and an ear trumpet.
You know, if they were really butch they could move that goddamn plant.
David, upon seeing the giant, dropped down to his knees to pray. "I beg you, Lord," beseeched the worried lad, "help me smite the Philistine who resembles Sandy Duncan in Peter Pan."
1 comment:
Okay, now I am all happy again, in spite of the fucking cable company.
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