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[Nov. 19th, 2010|09:05 pm] |
It's tough being dyslexic. Every time I* masturbate, a kitten kills God!
I'm not sure that pet psychic was really worth the money. She said all my dog's problems stemmed from wanting to hump his mother's leg.
I could sense my date's frustration with the fact that I insist on chewing each bite of food 16 times. Well, maybe if she stopped talking so much and let me concentrate, I wouldn't have to count out loud.
I have a canker sore on the inside of my upper lip that is shaped like a perfect valentine. You'd think women would find something like that romantic, but so far I haven’t found that to be the case.
Since I started writing software for NASA, I've discovered that if I write code that crashes and then say very loudly, "Oh my God, it crashed!" the management gets really nervous and a hush falls over the entire room. You gotta love that kind of attention.
I just got one of those crazy 5-blade razors. The first blade lifts the hair. The second one cuts the hair. The third blade cuts it again! The fourth blade is a sneaky bastard who waits for the hair to relax and then cuts it again! Then the fifth blade goes to the hair's house and beats the crap out of its mother.
I suffer from pre-traumatic stress disorder. I don't know what's going to happen, or even when something traumatic will happen, but you can bet your ass I'll be screaming and crying hours before it goes down.
Despite it being decades away, I thought it might be fun to plan something special for my 100th birthday. But when the time comes, I imagine I'll probably just stay dead.
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