Stupid Gaywad Josten's Rings Ad
Guess who's back again with another bunch of super-gay ads for their rings that are so gay that even King Buttlover of Gaylord Island would not wear one? It's Jostens. Surprise.
You sell a bunch of stupid over-sized rings and people can put like a key and compass or something on the sides if anybody wants (nobody wants) and they are pretty much the worst anything ever.
If a dude wears a Jostens ring he will never do anything good in life and he will die alone, without any money, in a gutter full of rotten turds and dead pigeons. Oh, yeah, and the rings cost like 500 grand, which is like paying someone to bite off your lips.
Marjorie Boyd Gonna Make an Honest Man Out of Some Lucky Five Year Old
Nobody at school would touch you with a ten-foot burning torch, but now that you're graduating I know you can find the right boy to expose yourself to at the park. Don't try to deny it, Marjorie. I'm not gonna get caught up in no libelousness, but let me just say I seen the way you looked at the kids from the elementary school on science festival day.
That was burning desire right there. You wanted to sink them crooked teeth of yours into a nice little boy and bite yourself off a piece of that. I know its gonna happen sooner or later, I just hope that kid got all his shots up to date.
Those things are like a wet chalk saw with little pieces of broccoli and shit wedged in there. Give somebody heartworms or SIDS or some nasty shit.
Ernest Martinez Always Thinking About Shit (Ultra Gay Shit)
Why are you always so serious, Ernest? That distant look, that swarthy face, you don't belong at Central Valley High, you belong on some sort of coin in Honduras. 100 chupa or something. On the other side they could have like a banana and a turtle or whatever it is they eat in your homeland. Bark maybe. Pajamas or, well, you get the idea, Professor Ernesto.
I will never know how you got to be second in our class. How did you have time to think about anything other than all the dudes you want to "do a sex on" in our class?
Maybe get some of those little Jesus candles your people love so much and pray it away.
To the Future Mrs. Hyperbole, Ginger Reece
Baby, you know it's magic all over. Get that tingling on your thing-a-ling. Me, you, signing your yearbook. It's serendipitous.
After the last day of school why don't you come on over? I'll put on my Akinyele CD and nothing else. Maybe light up a couple Glade vanilla scent candles and shit, get the mood just right, and girl...I will put my tongue everywhere. You understand what that means? You let me I will get that up behind your eyeball and start licking all up on that.
Come on girl, I will make you stink hard. When I get done little wavy lines and flies will be coming up off you. Planning boards zoning around you and shit. Lowering property values with that stink.
Unh, get it. I'll be waiting, you keep that shit wet.
David Mungula Gonna Wake Up and Find His Ass is a Bug
Senior Superlative: Most Creepy As Fuck Motherfucker. Beating out Whitehead and that ghostface shit, you Franz Kafka dripping dude. You got all kinds of crazy ass problems.
For starters you got cat breath and people ain't supposed to have cat breath. For number two you got that left arm that's all stiffed up and tiny like a wooden spoon in your shirt with a rubber glove on the end. Third of all you got to stop picking at that shit on your neck. I don't know if like its cancer or a duck bit you on your neck or what, but a synonym for alluring ain't a creepy dark-eyed boy pulling nickel-sized scabs off his neck.
Get that looked at, bro, and stay away from the DMV.
That's it. That's all I wrote for right now. So what you think about that? You feel that owning? That was some de-emancipation proclaiming shit right there. For real.
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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