Wednesday, October 31, 2012

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When people can't tell the difference between petty sexual assault and cleverness, you know you came up with a damn good costume. I also have no idea how you do this, aside from the obvious fact that this dude spent a serious amount of time at FedEx Kinkos making some outlandish demands.

As a blogger, I'm a fake computer programmer and I find it hard to believe this ratty looking dude Alt-PrtSc-Paint-Crop-Save'd his way into Halloween superstardom. As a blogger nerd, I can't believe it. I won't believe it.
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It's that time of year again. The time where you're just trying to get home after a tough day at the office, but can't seem to avoid adults talking about their kids for Halloween. "My son is this", "My daughter is that", blah blah blah. Don't you get it, old man? I have no idea what Yo Gabba Gabba is and frankly it sounds like the stupidest shit of all time. It's also the time of year where you reflect on the days where you dressed up like an asshole and accosted people for chocolate and corn syrup.

These are the candies that worked hard to ruin your holiday, in order:

5) Mounds
Fucking Mounds, Man. Outrageous how coconuts just weaseled their way into a candy bar and were allowed to flourish. Irresponsible move by the candy making industry. Threw these out immediately when I got home.

4) Smarties
I get it. The cashflow isn't moving in as quickly this month, but don't insult me. Give me a Dum-Dum or something. I need a candy that I can work with. Smarties are awful. There is no distinguishing the flavors and in the event you actually attempt to eat them, they all fall on the floor and get lost under the couch.

3) Whoppers
If you can successfully tell me what a "malted milk ball" is without sounding like a liar and a con-artist, I'll give you a dollar. Shit sounds disgusting and downright hazardous to a growing child's health. Any time CVS is selling a bag of 20000 Whoppers for $0.99, you know what's going on.

2) Almond Joy
The only thing worse and more wrong than putting cocunut inside a chocolate bar is putting almonds inside of a chocolate bar. Don't infringe my rights by forcing healthy food into my grill. I choose not to eat almonds because I eat like a degenerate. You don't see them putting cauliflower inside of a Big Mac, so don't put god damn almonds in my chocolate. Oh yeah, I wrote a blog on this too.

1) Tootsie Roll
Lazy, bitter, old, and fucking confused. That's what you have to be if you are putting a Tootsie Roll into a small, innocent child's Halloween bag tonight. For the people that say, "What, Dub? It's chocolate", shut up. If a Tootsie Roll is chocolate, A Working Man's Diary is worth 2 Billion Euros. It's like the hot dog of candy. It's bits in pieces of all the worst edible things in the world with brown food coloring. I knew things were bad for Tootsie rolls when I saw them in a store being sold for a penny. Don't be the person that ruins a kids Halloween.

As soon as I have a mortgage and a neighborhood, you best believe I'm distributing jawbreakers and lemon Warheads. Bastard of the neighborhood.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

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I feel like I just got rescued from being stranded on a desert island. Today was all about getting acclimated back into civilization from whatever world I was in yesterday.

Adult snow-days are weird as hell. You don't know how to treat them and you're basically freaking out the entire time thinking that you're wasting it. Basically from the time you wake up and the time you normally leave work, it's free time. So you encounter the dilemma of: how do you spend that time?

Since it's a hurricane, you're trapped inside and have limited amount of things to do. Here are Dub J's Cabin Fever guidelines:

-wake up right when "The Today Show" starts and try to stay awake until Kathie Lee and Hoda's skank ass come on

-go on Google Chrome's "Incognito Mode" and proceed to get weird

-make an omelette because frankly, that's the only thing I can make

-search out and make a concerted effort to watch "Maury" and "The Price is Right"

-play video games

-respond to some emails concerning "working from home"

-eat pizza and nap

-realize it's like 3pm and start freaking out

-"clean" room, get more depressed

-accept the inevitable, go on with rest of day post 6pm

I feel like Tom Hanks from Castaway thrust back into the office. A liability on all accounts. As a victim of Hurricane Sandy, pray for me.

Monday, October 29, 2012

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^concerning amount of precipitation on my window right now

So here it is, everyone. Possibly my last blog before I get whisked away into the sky like one of those cows from the movie Twister. You best believe your boy is going out exactly how he came in though: with glasses on, in his underwear, with Netflix on blast until the power shuts off. It's like the idea of the captain going down with his ship, only if you replace a semi-nude blogger with "captain" and clutching his laptop whilst very startled with "going down with his ship."

The real question is: can six eggs, an UNOs Deep Dish pizza, and some assorted poultry and beef last me the duration of this storm? You know, just doing my due diligence to determine the most opportune time to start eating my roommates and shit.

Be safe errrybody.

Friday, October 26, 2012

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What an asshole, huh? How come you just can't be a squirrel, bro? Bury some acorns, run in the middle of the road and do normal squirrel things. Don't put on a really scary mask, stand on your hind-legs and pose for pictures in the local paper. That's how you scare internet bloggers.

If Halloween mattered this year, I would have been Gerald from "Hey Arnold." Bam, my hypothetical costume is better than your real costume.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

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Simply put, a young thug has to prosper. So in order to let me get my Money Team dollar-slangin' swag on, I'd appreciate it if you click those weird links at the bottom of my posts.

Google gave me the power to kinda sorta "create" the ad, so I will try to make them things relevant to the post and stuff that you'd actually want to click on. If you're confused at what I'm talking about, it was at the bottom of the last post:

Will you be the one to contribute to WMD's first internet dollar? I'll only buy crack and heroin with it, don't worry.

Zillionz Money Counting Jug (Google Affiliate Ad)
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Not much to add to this post aside from the fact that ya'll better start stocking your disaster shelters with Hawaiian Punch, Toilet Paper and thawed out Hot Pockets, because it's a wrap. Kiss your loved ones and just accept the Mayan zombie apocalypse.

PS. If there wasn't a motherfucker tailing this chicken until it did something of purpose, we have failed as a society. There's gotta be a trillion dollar reward for the answer to why this thing crossed the road.

When All Hell Breaks Loose: Stuff You Need To Survive When Disaster (Google Affiliate Ad)
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Looks like this dude got covered in molasses and rolled around in iParty for awhile getting all sorts of wacky shit stuck on his body. Check out that head-neck super bandage. What kind of injury can POSSIBLY justify the need for that bandage? Lightning strike? Sword slash? Come on, man. Dial back the absurdity and maybe you can get your hands on a Bank Americard with some cash-back rewards or something.

Love the disheveled, down-on-his-luck attorney suit too. Really pulled everything together.

PS. In his defense, this is probably the most rob-able Bank of America of all time:

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

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Weddings are tough. Just a year of planning, freaking out, severing friendships, freaking out some more and recognizing that you're stuck with one person until you die. A lot going on in your head during the big day so it's completely understandable if you want to get a little weird.

It's common courtesy to let the bride dictate most of the wedding because it's 95% for the woman and 5% for the man, but with that 5% you pretty much have free reign. Justin Timberlake just happens to be a hobo fetishist and needed their well-wishings before he said "I do." Completely understandable. I'll probably request a 20 foot projection screen with a Nintendo 64, Super Smash Brothers and like 75 beers at the reception. Guys are weird, we're going to surprise you with some odd requests sometimes. Hopefully at this stage in their relationship, Jessica was able to see this coming to an extent and let it breeze under the rug.

For those of you that think this is offensive, pfft. Homeless people love camera time and they undoubtedly got paid more money than they were going to make just standing there otherwise. For every 5 hobos that buy mouthwash, nips and heroin with their earnings, one of them will open a savings account and accrue interest while peddling the corner.

JT can do no wrong in my eyes. Jessica's a lucky lady.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

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Sure it was funny and cute when I put up a birthday post at age 22. Then it was fun to watch the transition I made while turning 23. Then people were probably like, "Eh, 24 is a little too old to blog about your birthday." And now here we are at 25 because...I'm still writing this blog.

Let's call a spade a spade: 25 means I'm like 1/3rd dead. If you think I have a good shot at making it past 75 you're outside your mind and I appreciate you. But there is no way a steady diet of gummy bears, alcohol and double cheeseburgers is going to keep the engine moving past 75. The only shot I have is if science finds out that high fructose corn syrup and bacon fat prolong life. Until then, I'm rolling with the fact that I have 50ish solid years left. Basically my only ACTUAL responsibilities fall along the lines of: getting foolishly paid and making sure nothing dies on my watch.

Easy enough, but yet again you all have failed me. I've said it thrice and I'll say it again. Someone come and smash my computer to pieces if I'm still writing this blog at age 26.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

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If there isn't a new internet meme titled, "Wyclefing" by the end of the day, we have failed as an uncreative society. If you don't think I'm going to get fired for covering myself in vegetable oil and straddling my desk by noon, you're legitimately crazy.

Interesting move by 'Clef though. Release an overplayed hit with Shakira, disappear off the face of the Earth for awhile, cause political unrest in Haiti, and come back greased up on a Ducati. Can't say I would have do it that way, but oh well. Anytime you can match your briefs with your Ducati motorcycle the rulebook states that you have to do it.

Bonus picture:

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

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Wow Israel, you really dropped the ball on this one. A cardboard bicycle is basically catnip for the standard hipster. Assholes nationwide will pay tons of money to make the pilgrimage just to get their hands on the most inefficient bicycle of all-time.

This shit is all fun and games until a gust of wind sends you careening into a redwood and your butt is in shambles because you're basically sitting on a violin.

This made me think, what else could Israel create if they wanted to top this masterpiece:

-Skunked PBR factory

-16 song CDs featuring indie bands that don't even know they exist yet

-Skinny Jean-Army Boot onesies

-TVs that only have PBS, A&E and the History Channel

Bar Refaeli can only get you motherfuckers so far...

Monday, October 15, 2012

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You know what? I feel for Stinky. Sure, he shouldn't go around raping everthing he sees, but I understand his plight.

I mean, dude is SO wound up and horny that boat propellers and anchors are turning him on. You know how repressed you have to be to look at a fucking anchor and convince yourself that you want to have sex with it? What I'm trying to say is, a sexually maniacal dolphin and a pre-teen boy aren't too different.

Every boy between the ages of 11-14 is a sexual deviant. Every single one. As soon as you figure out how things work down there, you start getting real weird. Rubbing up on everything, reading Sears catalogs and basically becoming a menace to society. Then you figure out how to reel things in and go on functioning like a normal person. Those that can't end up in jail. In Stinky's case, there is no dolphin jail. He just roams the sea looking for things to hump by any means necessary. Scrapes on his dorsal fin? Pfft, he don't care as long as he eventually gets his rocks off.

It's not his fault, it's the circumstance. So don't hate the raper playa, hate the game.

Friday, October 12, 2012

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Look, I'm not going to pretend like I know how to use a washing machine or a dryer, because I don't. Shit goes awry very quickly if I don't stick to the basics. With that said, a lot of the washing I do is based almost solely on judgment calls. No rhyme or reason, just pure gut instincts and societal expectations. While this is undoubtedly the wrong way to go about things, I have a system and I stick to it:

Clothes (T-Shirts, Underwear, Socks, Dress Shirts, Dress Pants, Shorts, Hoodies, Sweats)
-My clothes washing schedule is dictated by my underwear and my underwear only. If there is one line I draw in the laundry game, it is the maintenance of clean boxer-briefs. I do enough on a per-day basis to completely justify never wearing a pair of underwear again until they are washed. Sometimes there are casualties, like a clean t-shirt gets washed twice without getting worn since wash. If it finds it's way into the hamper, it's gone. And no, I don't dry clean shirts and pants. I'm a Top-5 ironer that isn't a mother or gay.

-Here's when things get dicey. Straight up no idea when to clean a towel. Theoretically they're always dirty and clean at all times. They smell like your soap, but are covered in your dirt. If your cool with using your towel after 5 showers, you should be cool using your towel after 100 showers. Unless you're a jackass and leave it out somewhere where it gets that mildewy-shit smell, there may not me a justifiable reason to ever wash a towel. Sometimes I toss them in with my sheets, but that's just as big, if not bigger of a crap shoot.

Bed Stuff (Sheets, Blanket, Pillowcases, Pillow?)
(Before I get into this, does your actual pillow EVER get washed? Serious question. In fact, don't answer that--ignorance is bliss.)
-None of these things get washed unless there is a clear odor or stain on any of them. Even if there is a stain, there is careful due diligence done to determine the answer to the age old question of: "Is it worth it?" If it is, the stain has to be awful or your girlfriend is visiting and she smells your stink better than you can.

Winter Jackets (Non-Peacoats)
-No clue. I have a Northface bubble coat that I've had since like '05 that I still wear on days where it's so cold you don't care what you look like. I washed it once and all the feathers matted into clumps and took like 7 months to dry. Now you just have to deal. Any stain I get on that coat will be on there forever. Peacoats get dry-cleaned, along with suits.

-Conundrum city. Smartly enough, I own two jeans. So in the event one gets stained, I have the other one to wear. If that one gets stained, then it's time to wash. If you're close enough to the summer, you can smoothly transition out of pants season into shorts season without having to clean anything. If you're exceedingly clean you may never have to wash your jeans, but if you're like me, you crush burgers and wings on a routine basis and that shit just isn't realistic.

Miscellaneous (Bath rug, Kitchen towels)
-Bathrugs were built to absorb water, look awful, and smell like shit a month into use. That's an occupational hazard you agree to deal with upon purchase. And kitchen towels are just...there. My life would go on with or without them. Never need to wash any of these things.

Expecting a confused and disappointed phone call from Mom within the hour.
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I'm done with awful things washing ashore. Shit is so played out. Instead of dead bodies, mutated creatures and rogue monster eyeballs, how about something nice?

Where are the lighthearted stories about beachcombers finding dry checks for $1 billion floating along the shoreline? At the very least, a luxury sedan with 1,000 miles on it should pop up along the eastern seaboard every once in awhile. Nope. We just get one big ass, lonely eyeball and millions of tax dollars lost determining what it's attached to, which I'm NOT mad at. Since we'll probably have to kill it at some point. Because there is a monster lurking in the water with one eye right now and I'd bet the farm that he's probably not thrilled about it. His peripherals must be so off.

Also, what asshole sees this, picks it up and calls the authorities? You best believe I'm instagramming the shit out it, tweeting something witty and running as fast as I can because giant eyeballs are only a little baller and a lot of gross.
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There are open and shut cases and then there are situations when a dude walks into a bar with a mullet. I'm pretty sure if you're out in public looking like all sorts of shit, your human rights get thrown right out of the window.

So there are several things to tackle here:

1) Those pictures:

First off, I love the side-profile, hero thing you got going with your girl on your arm. Almost makes us forget about the Mr. T gold chain, the mullet, how truly bad your look was in the inset picture from the night in question, and your decision making skills as a human.

2) Is your girl kinda hot?


3) "I'm not in a gang. I don't have tattoos all over me, I'm just an everyday person"

You're not in a gang because the Bloods/Crips/SAMCRO would literally kill you the second that you walked within a 100 foot radius of any of them. Insta-dead with 10 bullets in your midsection. It's hard to look the way you look and not get gunned down.

Listen, I understand bad hair situations. I've tried to give myself curls like Easy-E; I attempted to grow an afro and get Allen Iverson braids, I get it. But one day you look yourself in the mirror and hit a realization point that you look fucking disgusting and stop what your doing.

Don't try any trick plays. Focus on running it up the gut and you'll be a contributing member to your area's nightlife in no time.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

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Two more numbers? An "Ok" confirmation button? What the fuck happened?

My thumbs are exhausted from all of this unjust work they have to unexpectedly do. Imagine if there was one more crucial step added to your showering process, like having to really clean your feet or some shit. Then multiply that by douchebag and you have my current issue. Obviously this is a #firstworldproblem, but it's a serious problem nonetheless.

You know those statistics that say things like, "You spend 25 years sleeping throughout a lifetime"? Well imagine the amount of time lost due to pressing THREE more buttons than you normally would have. Those precious hundredths add up. I can't afford to lose minutes off this exceedingly mediocre life. Just picture your life cut short by like 15 minutes. Nothing would suck more knowing that, as you were in the process of dying, you would have had 15 more minutes left if your phone didn't suddenly become a dickhead because of work policy. Definitely enough time to pop on the latest hologram porn and play a level of Angry Birds: The Future.

PS. Does anyone else get Parkinson's real quick when they have to draw anything on Microsoft Paint?

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

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No lie, it's DEFCON 5 right now. I'm pretty sure my TV is destroyed, my bed is in shambles and there are clothes everywhere. I even contemplated sticking my head in the oven, because no one can live like this. A small-medium sized spider crawled across the floor and I don't know where it is.

This is basically "call out sick" worthy if I can't find and brutally murder this crafty fucking arachnid by sunrise. Plus I'm just convinced it's watching me from a nook somewhere, spider-giggling and calling me a bitch under it's breath. Well yes, in this exact situation, I am a bitch. And honestly, what's really good with that "You eat 8 spiders a year" Snapple fact? Did Myth Busters get to the bottom of that, because they are not prioritizing themselves correctly if they didn't.

Yes, I agree I shouldn't have used nearly an entire container of Scrubbing Bubbles to kill a rogue spider, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Shit's probably a black widow or one of those red-flag spiders they show on the Discovery Channel.

Oh well, I'm just going to throw my "Aw Shit" face on...
...and stay up the entire night watching Netflix, waiting for the inevitable.
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^I'd react that way if I contracted a two-centuries old disease too, bro.

Well it goes without saying that this is the unluckiest squirrel in the game right now. Out of all the squirrels out there doing squirrel-like things, this poor bastard contracted the fucking plague. Like, not a little cold or anything. The plague. Something we haven't seen since our textbooks showed a bunch of crudely drawn Brits getting bitten by rats.

That's the equivalent of me waking up, going to work, hitting the gym, coming home and contracting polio. Just doing normal half-man, half-blogger things and contracting thought-to-be eradicated diseases. It'd undoubtedly suck, but that "Yeah, I can't come in today on the account that I have polio now" phone call would be a big bag of fun.

Don't worry guys, health officials gave us a list of rules to follow in order to not contract squirrel plague:

-- Avoid contact with squirrels and other wild animals
-- Do not feed or touch wild animals
-- Do not touch dead animals
-- Do not rest or camp near animal burrows

Just a crack team right there. That's basically telling me not to be homeless or a street urchin, but for those of you out there that considered poking a dead rat with an un-gloved finger, I'm glad I could help. Also, what the FUCK is an animal burrow? I could be near one right now and would never know.
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I see all you cats out there talking about who has the most advanced cutlery and who's produce is the freshest. Well now is the time to put up or shut up. Come see me out here in Kitchen 2K13 and throw some stacks on it.

You best believe I'm out here everyday peeling onions, mincing garlic and marinating the hell out of my tilapia filet. All of these fake-ass cooks trying to cheat and read recipe manuals while I do my shit straight from the dome. I bet ya'll don't even know the difference between margarine and butter spread. I live for this, man. My 113-7 record* speaks for itself. Buy some Cascade for your grimy dishwasher before you decide to log-on.

*All losses to old, mildly overweight black and latino women and one crafty middle aged white mother.

PS. Or you can be a weirdo and play that really masculine game with the ball and the colorful jersey shirts:

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

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So many thoughts, ideas, and grievances flowing through my head right now that I barely know what to say:

-R.L. Stine was NOT a pen name.
-He actually might be the most Jewish person of all-time.
-It's incomprehensible that he was a New York Times Bestseller.
-"Red Rain" is 100% a never-released "Goosebumps" title about a town that rained blood.
-The review on the front highlights "real characters", because R.L. is grown now and doesn't want to talk about murderous sponges and Camp Jelly Jam.

But enough with the riff-raff, let's talk about what really needs to be discussed: "Night of the Living Dummy 2." That shit was the scariest, most life-altering book I have ever read. Had me sleeping in my parents' bed like a bitch and explaining to them how a doll was going to kill me. It wasn't until Dad gave me the PG version of the "if you can't beat the shit out of a ventriloquist dummy, I will basically disown you" speech that I was able to continue living my life.

As far as I'm concerned, Goosebumps were adult novels and there was no reason that I or any other kid should have read that shit. What's next? Count Chocula popping up on True Blood? Animorphs getting remastered by the bitch that wrote "50 Shades of Grey"?

Nothing about this was TV Y-7:

Thursday, October 4, 2012

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I'm basically a slut for 'Likes' as is, why not get some mechanical hugs out of it too?

Granted, a vest that gives out unemotional simulated hugs sounds kind of wack and very dangerous, but a like is never enough. I'm always left wanting more after I drop a hilarious status or after I put up some creative ass picture that no one on the internet has seen yet. I'm almost 25 years old, the +1 on the notification button is getting old and I need a new way to get my Facebook rocks off.

Once I deal with the crippling fears of going out in the rain, public malfunction, and groups of people over-liking my status, I will be belle of the fucking ball. Birthday's approaching. Gift the blog that keeps on giving.

PS. -100% chance that I checked the price. Could be thousands of dollars.
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Well if this isn't a definitive open-shut case, I don't know what is. I mean, AG did invent the internet, electricity, and dinosaurs, so how can he be wrong about this? Racist air is real, ya'll.

Pittsburgh Steelers safety, Ryan Clark is unable to compete in Mile High Stadium because it triggers a sickle cell trait in his blood, which is just damning proof that black people can't function in that city. Imagine getting off a plane and thinking to yourself, "Aw man, my blood is acting up again." Hell, we should all thank AG, the Based God for putting us onto to this.

Now everyone needs to get off Barry O's back and let the man (literally) catch his breath out there. Give him a mulligan or something because the brother wasn't functioning like a human being last night. Hard to form an informed response when the black half of his blood was all sickled and shit.

Shout out to Jim Lehrer though. Dude went out there, did a fucking terrible job, went to his hotel, and slept like a baby.


Wednesday, October 3, 2012

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Let this process for a second. Just sit calmly and mull over the fact that this dog was hit so squarely that it became lodged under the "Toyota of Newport" sign of this Scion, yet it survived and came out with the "get money" smile on it's face. Straight making a mockery of the driver, law enforcement, and Scions everywhere.

Animals, man. Sometimes you get duds and sometimes you get studs. There is NO way my cat would have pulled this stunt. Garfield (RIP) would have had a heart attack before the car hit and his fat-ass would have been impossible to remove from the grill--ruining the car and subsequently, everyone's day. Get me a dog that can take a hit, suffer a severe concussion, rupture it's bladder, and still have enough flair and swag juice remaining to throw up a thug smile. Salute.

PS. Took everything in my power not to put up the "Grills" video by Nelly at the end of this post. Too irrelevant and the song isn't that good when you think about it.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

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Glad someone finally brought this up. I'm tired of casually getting my human rights infringed upon by PB&J. How about next time you just act like a sandwich and stop judging me for how I look? Every time I eat one of these things I can just hear it inanimately mumbling, "Thought you would have preferred a CHICKEN sandwich" under it's fake breath.

Well I've got news for you bigot-sandwich, the jig is up. You racist assholes.
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Yeah Lolo, I think you...


..get him at the end.