M'lady, please tell us of your frightening tales on the astral plane so that I may giggle and forward the link around at work!
Chocolate son of a bitch popping up in dreams thinking he's so hot like no one's ever heard of Ovaltine, fuck that ho.
"Hey mom, can we go someplace else for vacation this year? Oh, no reason."
This one is pretty long and I can't really make much sense of it, so maybe you could print it out and try to make sense of it on the train to work or something.
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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