Favstar wird sogar noch besser, wenn du dich anmeldest.
There's obviously no pleasing you all at once, is there.
Just when I think you all understand me, I lose followers.
I have named the 2 beds in my hotel room "screwing" and "sleeping" but for right now they're being called "trampoline 1" and "trampoline 2".
I'm off to mow the lawn. Or as I like to call it, get fucking hammered while operating a piece of machinery capable of slicing my face off.
There's always a joker that will un-mute the conference call while you're repeating everything being said on the other end, in a Yoda voice.
I bet I could arc pee into the garbage can across the room while laying here on the bed… if… I… try… hard… e…nough…
Having almost 300 followers is awesome. It's like I'm a comedian with a large crowd where only 2 to 8 of you laugh at my jokes at a time.
My wife is talking to me right now about something.
I'm not re-adjusting myself as much as I'm actually just playing with myself right in front of you.
Goodnight imaginary friends with avatars of faces, bodies, big boobs, cartoons, kids, words, animals, and superman pouring a drink.
If I were boss, people would be fired for double clicking Internet links.
That song by AC/DC that sounds like all the other ones by them is my favorite.
Last night went like this: Beer, swimming, wine, fall down, laugh, firepit, pee, pee, pee, laugh, skinny dip, wife mad, don't remember.
…anyway, so at work there's now a policy that states we aren't allowed to dial into any conference calls from the bathroom. No matter what.
It must have really sucked for Mother Nature when it was time for the cactuses to be born.
People around me complaining that I'm on Twitter all the time forget that I could just as easily be stabbing them all the time instead.
I always feel bad for the cameraman that has to stay behind to film the driving off scenes in reality TV shows.
Just read the list of side effects for Dristan® Cold Tablets and I didn't see crying while masturbating to Dancing With The Stars anywhere.
I've spent my afternoon on rides that use only a few metal pins to prevent me from flinging into a sea of mullets with Def Leppard t-shirts.
Does it ever get old to see someone hold a stud finder up to their chest in a hardware store and say out loud that they found a stud?
I have no problem jumping in the drink with or without my clothes on. If you're nice to me, I might draw you on the EtchASketch.