It’s so unfair in life you meet the adult equivalents of the bad kids from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory and you’re not allowed to murder them in various ironic ways.
I’ll complain about the government invading my privacy after I tell you where I am on Facebook and posting what I’m eating on Instagram.
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Don’t try tell me how many months old your child is. I only recognize:
A. Potato phase
B. Shrieking pterodactyl phase
C. Tiny drunk person phase
[I just barely squeeze thru the elevator doors as they shut, however my chain wallet get caught, ripping my pants off as the elevator rises]
14 year old me would be shocked to learn that knowing every word to Billy Joel’s ‘We didn’t start the fire’ has done nothing for our career.
My husband and I have been spending a lot of time together. Now my boyfriend is pissed. It’s like I can’t win.
*drops an avocado in the offering basket at church*
Hi you’ve reached my voicemail, this is by far one of the absolute worst ways to get in touch with me….leave a message.
Just saw someone order a cup of water at this restaurant. Knocked it out of his hand. We’re in a drought, idiot.
Mr. Potato Head was an only child in spite of being made by Hasbro.
Bro: *on phone* Babe. Babe. Babe. Babe. BABE!
Dude: You’re so whipped.
Bro: What? I just got her to rent Babe instead of The Notebook.