For the record, I hate skiing... and if you get killed doing it, GOOD.
I don't pull out because... it's not my problem.
Get a in clothes dryer with Magic Johnson and some razorblades.
My whole existence is spent just trying to not shove bad food in my fat face. It's like a constant struggle. I'll do really good for a while, and then I do bad, then I do really good.
I wish I had AIDS so I could bite somebody.
What's the name of the birth defect you have, trampled by a horse during the 2nd trimester?