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I might.
"It's over for us. If this oil comes ashore, it's just over for us," Rowell said angrily, rubbing his forehead. "Nobody wants no oily shrimp."
"Oh, That Wifey!"
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April
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- I Don't. She Does.
- Period Underwear...The New Ipod.
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- Because YOU Demanded it! Hitler Haiku
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- How to be a Douchebag (lesson #7)
- He doesn't have burnt genitals...he's my brother.
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- But You Can't Pick Dick Cheney.
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- Let's dissect the picture and the headline.
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April
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My dog.
6 comments:
What if I wanna marry your pal Paul, who's a tame Polish polecat, in a pool at the pole position of the Indy 500?
(I can't work in the poully-fuisse, vomit or car crash, I'm such a loser.)
You can rob Peter to Pay Paul.
Pay Paul.
Papal.
We hate medicine.
If you want to be a real human boy, you'll have to learn to take medicine.
Just so you know.
Tell it to the Pope.
I've never met a robot boy more obsessed with the Pope.
It strikes me as a bit unhealthy.
No Blogging on Good Friday.
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