2685 pts ยท January 19, 2018
That's an interesting Theory of a Deadman, but pay it no Creed. It's tempting for this to be the Default, but we shouldn't let it Staind our rosy memories.
Life has been both incredibly rewarding and also incredibly unfair to Bret. He is to Kid Rock what Kim Coates is to Joachim Phoenix.
Eat my cat.
As my manager likes to say... "You gotta give'm the pickle". There's really something special about fried breaded pickle spears though, the perfect junction between refined and carnival. Like wearing a tuxedo jacket over a pit-stained wife beater.
Naw it's been that way since before I've been born, just getting in the way. That's why they say it's what's inside that counts, I assume. It's the meat that counts.
My skin can fuck 90% of the way off, with all due respect. It literally just sits there and gets between me and anything and anyone I get close to.
If I had plumbing that could flush t-shirts I'd give them a try. I bet the heavily logo's ones would slice the bung something fierce as they aged. Oh, and I spend 62.37% of my waking time thinking of ways I can justify taking another shower. On-demand hot water is the finest thing humanity has ever devised.
He's alright by me; his humor was always on the Marx. Don't get me started on Roch Voisine though.
Much-ass gracias.
Ultra Strong Uber Alles. That said having a plunger handy is necessary if you're not paying close attention to the wad thickness bring used.
Well thank you. I strain on the commode, and I strive for a memeload.
Sebum and see bum, two things that happen in my bed.
Well that is a solid point, but I heard somewhere that Richard Marx uses drain covers and I can't bring myself to engage in Marxist behaviour.
Hermes taught me that technically is the best kind of correct.
I mean, that was the LONGEST stretch. They acquired the aroma of a fine potroast and gravy, so it was difficult to muster the will to change them in the midst of the icy cold wintertime. Nothing lulls me to sleep like the scent of simmering beef and carrots, you know?
Richard Marx figuratively shit in my open sunroof, spoiled all the milk in my fridge, gave me an atomic wedgie, and drank the last beer without asking if anyone else wanted it. I stand against Marxism.
This makes sense... Managementmfosters infectious staff, so it probably rubbed off on me. Then antibiotics are no joke though...
Ever since I was a kid I've hated Richard Marx. The only non-givernment radio station near my hometown only ever played Richard Marx and Roch Voisine.
Only IPAs for me, sir. I Poo Abysmally.
Well after most of a roll, 3 "flushable" moist wipes, and a scalding hot shower to un-cake my quivering butthole I'm able to face the day.
My old manager is now in upper management and has doubled down on that mindset. They're not managing effectively unless everyone is on edge and at each other's throats apparently...
It is time to invest in a poop stool, I think. Is this what old age feels like?
That's an interesting Theory of a Deadman, but pay it no Creed. It's tempting for this to be the Default, but we shouldn't let it Staind our rosy memories.
Life has been both incredibly rewarding and also incredibly unfair to Bret. He is to Kid Rock what Kim Coates is to Joachim Phoenix.
Eat my cat.
As my manager likes to say... "You gotta give'm the pickle". There's really something special about fried breaded pickle spears though, the perfect junction between refined and carnival. Like wearing a tuxedo jacket over a pit-stained wife beater.
Naw it's been that way since before I've been born, just getting in the way. That's why they say it's what's inside that counts, I assume. It's the meat that counts.
My skin can fuck 90% of the way off, with all due respect. It literally just sits there and gets between me and anything and anyone I get close to.
If I had plumbing that could flush t-shirts I'd give them a try. I bet the heavily logo's ones would slice the bung something fierce as they aged. Oh, and I spend 62.37% of my waking time thinking of ways I can justify taking another shower. On-demand hot water is the finest thing humanity has ever devised.
He's alright by me; his humor was always on the Marx. Don't get me started on Roch Voisine though.
Much-ass gracias.
Ultra Strong Uber Alles. That said having a plunger handy is necessary if you're not paying close attention to the wad thickness bring used.
Well thank you. I strain on the commode, and I strive for a memeload.
Sebum and see bum, two things that happen in my bed.
Well that is a solid point, but I heard somewhere that Richard Marx uses drain covers and I can't bring myself to engage in Marxist behaviour.
Hermes taught me that technically is the best kind of correct.
I mean, that was the LONGEST stretch. They acquired the aroma of a fine potroast and gravy, so it was difficult to muster the will to change them in the midst of the icy cold wintertime. Nothing lulls me to sleep like the scent of simmering beef and carrots, you know?
Richard Marx figuratively shit in my open sunroof, spoiled all the milk in my fridge, gave me an atomic wedgie, and drank the last beer without asking if anyone else wanted it. I stand against Marxism.
This makes sense... Managementmfosters infectious staff, so it probably rubbed off on me. Then antibiotics are no joke though...
Ever since I was a kid I've hated Richard Marx. The only non-givernment radio station near my hometown only ever played Richard Marx and Roch Voisine.
Only IPAs for me, sir. I Poo Abysmally.
Well after most of a roll, 3 "flushable" moist wipes, and a scalding hot shower to un-cake my quivering butthole I'm able to face the day.
My old manager is now in upper management and has doubled down on that mindset. They're not managing effectively unless everyone is on edge and at each other's throats apparently...
It is time to invest in a poop stool, I think. Is this what old age feels like?