That’s clearly the name of a demon.

Women will save men’s lives by telling them the stupid shit other men do.

It’s a near magical gift.

Just… these dudes don’t hang out with enough women. They need a girl there that says “Billy’s cousin went to get mistletoe and then there were pins in his legs coming out of the skin and Becky wouldn’t fuck him and the Chevy dealership by the base wouldn’t take the Camaro back…”

While skydiving. It’s funnier if they’re falling through the skies naked furiously beating meat.

Please don’t help them. I was hoping for encores.

You could pick out the lemon thread. Wear the hoodie. People start calling you Mike. You open a little business making surfboards in a small commercial park. Your buddies build a half pipe you store in the garage and you live in the front office on a sleeper sofa…

I think that might not be a raccoon.

England stole a bunch of islands.
Cobra made an island.

Not looking good for England.

Does this come in a Rumble/Frenzy variant?

It’s glistening.

And, of course, as one gazes into that abyss the viscous black sits like a bowl of ink just below the fog. An impenetrable barrier casting back reflections of ones own mind spun out across it. A collection of knots and tatters you once called a rug. A cracked foundation before yourself of yourself.

Top of the bottom. Put it on the green lady.

Why I’m a wood man.