Too bad Bob Marley's son looks like a strung out coke addict.
I'll be right over!
They always had this kind of language on The Dating Game. Oh how I hate that program. "Bachelor number one, if I pick you where would you take me on our date?" "Well Kim, I'd take you to a seedy bar, get you really drunk, go back to my place and bang the hell out of you, and then call you a cab while you're searching for your panties."
The male orgasm is a myth!
I don't see too many half-human half-hairbrush babies running around so I don't think "linda12" has anything to worry about.
This is what happens when you outsource the tech support jobs to India and give them computers.
I'm just angry all the time.
I hate the internet. I really do.
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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