I'm just trying to figure out how to tell my wife that the real reason I'm upset is that one of my favorite porn stars just died.
"Honey? You know how I whack off to that chick that does all the stuff that you don't do, and looks way hotter? Yeah... she died today..." Your wife will actually appreciate it.
Actually, I like her because she looks damn near like my wife except with fake tits and lips. Yup, have fun with that armchair psychologists!
My ex-wife looks like a slightly less bouncy version of Gianna Michaels. I was OK with that. Like, very OK.
Can't you just get a giant bald eagle on your back, wings spread, with a huge set of dick and balls? Maybe about to eat a baby armadillo? And, at sunset.
So I think I'm way too fucking drunk for a Wednesday night... I'm dealing with two large commercial clients, and they're both fucking idiots... 16 hour days sneak up on you, and I do believe me finishing the last of my Captain Morgan is a sign... Now that I really stop and introspect... I do believe I may have bed spins tonight. Wow... I really did not see that coming...
I do have a version of the Gadsden flag with a rattlesnake on it (instead of the original Timber Rattlesnake) on my chest. Every bit of it has personal meaning, none of it that militia "fuck the government" shit you normally associate with that flag, but it still looks very redneck when you first look at it.
Some part of me truly hopes that Trump is in the plane that inevitably drops a nuke on NK, and then poses for a photo op in the pilot's seat after it with two thumbs up, and then tweets out the photo. And then someone gets that photo tattooed on them.
My aunt gave me shit last night about whether or not I want to cut the umbilical cord. I do not. I dont want any part of it. She claims its a "bonding process." No it isnt. Its a nutrient tube and I dont want cut it.