John Wayne ain’t got nothin on my fringe game.
Poetry in lyrics= “Open like the 7-Eleven.”
The novel is marinating so it will be even tastier.
“I be the keeper of trees, yo- my crib ain’t a rental; You mess with my nest, I’ll go enviroMENTAL.”
Thanks for introdouching yourself.
Only if there’s a zombie DiCaprio.
Remember: you’re the reason mom drinks.
The restraining order means I can only write to Joel Stein on the Internet now.
You can’t use the terms “clusterfuck” or “cuntasaurus rex” if you’re a mommyblogger, in case the advertisers don’t like it.
Don’t text and fly.
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