Tuesday, March 14, 2017

From whence a thrill may yet come....

sourpuss. as of the eating of those odious yellow citrus. all I will say.

Chris Matthews and the hysterical vomiting.  The machine takes in and then outputs based on its input, like manipulating a prize horse's diet to control his poop.  If Barry Obama sent a thrill up his leg, then I ask, ala Hannibal Lecter, where does Donald Trump thrill him?  Perhaps, yet, a good wrenching of the scrotum to wake up the man in the bubble.

Jesus getting the Heisman. Crazy shit, man. Blew Twitter up.  We didn't even know Jesus could ball, but we're all sure, if he did......

Heisman material, all the way.

At the mercy of the Lunar Calendar, and feeling a bit fagged.  Bloodsteve Boll is now a raider.  Raider Bloodsteve, anti-Nazi warrior.  Feathers and eye-black and all.

No-flap warrior, here.  Master and Commander.  Maybe I should forget all this self-denial, buy a six-pack and go fishing.  I DON'T do it.  I deny the placid toilet rim my essence!

A caffeine buzz can overcome a manic low.  I just found this out.  Booyah.

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