This Blog Is Proven To Help Reduce Body Fat

Right. The gas station on post is selling a product called "Bootie Beer." Yes. This product sells for a marked price of 7 dollars American for a case. That's like 29 cents a beer or something. I don't think I'm doing a very good job of explaining how beautiful this is. I am going to drink so much Bootie this weekend it will be maddening.
I like how despite the can, Pringles still get crushed by the time I try to eat them.
I thought I told you I didn't want to hear any shit? Yet you gave me shit. All that wasted energy. Just flapping your man-pleasers.
I am reading the paper today and it seems some guy in Italy is suing a Priest for claiming that Jesus was a real person. Not that he is God, not that he is the Son of Man, but that he was a real guy who walked the earth. What? Are you allowed to do that? If so I am suing the shit out of everyone for telling me there was a Santa, Easter Bunny, tooth fairy and ninjas. Fucking Italians. I suppose he had a break from eating pasta and watching his wife getting fatter, so he decided to sue.
I'm glad it's still raining. I had no intention of ever keeping my car clean.
Here is what you do. Get your hands on some silver nitrate and some white phosphorus. Steal a dispersion device and an airplane. Dump the silver nitrate into a cloud. It will start raining. Then dump in the WP. It will rain fire. Pretty sweet. At least that works in theory, I guess. I really have no clue. But it works in theory, theoretically speaking of course. As a matter of fact, I don't know if that will work. So don't do it. You might hurt someone or yourself. And I believe that stealing an airplane is a pretty big deal these days.
What the hell is a Rihanna? And why do I want to cover her voice in nut? Every time I hear her go, "da dee dee dee dee de dad a da dee deed a da day" I desire to spray a 12 roper across my stereo.
My phone sucks balls. I get only three hours of battery time. I fucking hate my shit.
I like how your hands feel on my head. Your fingers grip my hair and force my head into the placement you want it. Upon arrival, your hands loosen up a bit and give a slight squeeze as if to say you are pleased. You then slide your hands down to my neck; using your fingernails to pinpoint the position my head needs to be in. You pull my ears, twist my hair in your fingers and apply pressure, with force, whenever it isn't working for you. God I love it. I wish I could get a haircut everyday.