My birthday was this week. I'm not sure how many of you remember Mean Gifts, but I got a few cool things from dear old Mom that were worth sharing. I have a few other gifts backlogged, so here in a month or so I might do a follow up. Until that time here is a sneak preview, taken with my shitty camera phone:
Nothing says "happy birthday" like a half-deflated Valentine's Day balloon with a dog on it. I think I'll return the favor and start dispensing Lithum at every gift-giving event.
Last review we took a shocking in-depth look at "Urban Menace", a movie that proved to us rappers should stick to what they know, i.e. getting shot. Next time we'll kick off a two-part zombie series, starting with "I Was A Teenage Zombie" and ending with "Day of the Dead 2: Contagium." After those two comes "Existo," which I've been assured is the worst anti-Bush musical starring Jim Varney ever made. Pray for me.
Again I'd like to end this by thanking everyone who takes the time to write in. I really try to reply to everything I get but my email has been fucking up, so if you didn't get a reply rest assured that it either bounced back or you were one of the ten billion people who emailed me saying "HURR REVIEW STAY ALIVE PLZ." And before you click that button: If you ironically email me that message now that you've read this, you're the unfunniest fag since Carlos Mencia. Just saying.
Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you enjoyed the update. See you in two weeks!
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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