Little did he know that his foot powered filing system would have made him billions if he had only thought of a better name
– The Ped-o-file

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“No more Mr Nice Guy”

~ Mr Nice Guy’s eulogy


I don’t discriminate among size guys.

Personally my favorite is 3 inches and goes by the name visa, mc, or amex.


My daughter just maintained eye contact while stuffing her face with the last of my chocolate stash and my husband said “oh shit” and picked her up and took her into the other room but he won’t always be here to protect her


“Tell me the truth, am I out of touch with the common man?” I ask.

“Maybe a little,” says my butler.

I scoff, but my mouth is so full of aged tawny port that I start coughing and almost choke. He pats me on the back a few times.

“Don’t touch me without your gloves,” I wheeze.


Me: I drink vodka mainly because of my Russian roots

Him: You don’t have Russian roots

Me: *cracks open to reveal a slightly smaller me inside*


If you don’t count the six chocolate chip cookies or the two dead bodies, my diet’s going pretty well today.


When I was little and I had a runny nose, I would cover it with a Band-Aid instead of blowing it. That should’ve been my parents’ first clue.


It’s not like I can let everyone on facebook know that I am actually a sexually deprived, unshaven, drunken mess.

So I tell everyone here.