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 couldn't get laid with a sitcom and a rifle.
What's the name of the birth defect you have, trampled by a horse during the 2nd trimester?
For the record, I hate skiing... and if you get killed doing it, GOOD.
No periods. If you sneeze, the carpet's ruined.
God, I hope he dies the night before one of his kids get married.