As you, my dear readers, would know, for those performances my father would’ve shown me ye ol’ belt. However, for that last frisbee game, he would’ve hugged me and that would’ve fixed me.
Ance had done everything right. He was a top student, president of his frat, secret Trump voter, and LinkedIn Premium user. So where did everything go wrong? He couldn’t figure it out; all he could do was cry. Â
And that’s why it pains me so to see these other bishops and princes of the church milling about at the Vatican during this time, pretending that they’re deep in prayer while in reality we know that the “conclave” is really just a great fuck fantasy, acting so holier-than-thou like Bishop Lombardo once did.
Dear Flippy, So I recently got arrested for something. Don’t ask me what. Anyways, while I was sitting in the clink, I thought, you know, now would be a great time to reread my pocket Constitution, primarily because I was bored but also because there is a very real possibility I could go to prison. Anyways, when I pulled that Constitution out of my pocket, I saw something that made me think of you, my sweet, sweet bear friend: the
But then she went on Instagram reels and was emotionally healed. Â
In all my four weeks of hardcore, intensive, extensive, rough-and-rowdy intramural frisbee, I’ve never seen a game like the one we put on last week. Now, yes, I know that this team isn’t exactly the 2012 San Francisco Giants, but goddammit that performance we put on could make an angel want to jump of a bridge.
Like the other 150,000,000 people who voted for him, I’m happy with how Yeezy is running this country. Our economy and military have become harder, better, faster, and stronger in responding to foreign aggression. The brilliant financial strategies of the new Fed Chair Pusha T have stopped inflation and reduced the pre-existing economic conditions that created the infamous Gold Diggers. However, I can’t ignore the Pablo Bill which has given us a new national anthem–his 2016 hit song, “Father Stretch
Seven paragraphs of a scorned freshman’s unhinged ramblings on their “satan-spawn” Gen Chem Professor can be replaced with two simple words that convey the same thoughts.
My roommate recently confided his deepest, darkest secret to me: whenever I’m not in the room, he watches “the Hub” and masturbates.
If you or a loved one have a foot fetish, please seek help at 1-800-BITCH-DIE-BITCH.