In the spirit of “Once again my cat’s HPV is acting up … on her BIRTHDAY nonetheless”, comes the ultimate extreme of oversharing.
See that picture up there? That’s a dead guy. An actual, real, dead guy. Culled from someone’s “Mobile Uploads” on Facebook. Sweet Rotisserie Jesus-on-a-Cross. WTF people. We have beamed through the nexus of no return. Continue reading
I have well-meaning friends. I say that lovingly.
See that girl up there in the picture? She looks smart. She looks lonely. She looks attainable. She looks hot (at least, from the top of her head, but it’s buried in a book which is doubly attractive). I’d be perfectly content – nay, pleased as spiked punch – if I came home (or, really, left my living room) to that each twilight after work. But I don’t, and that’s not entirely obnoxious … yet …
I make a lot of lists.
Some might call my list fetish unhealthy; some might call it OCD; still others might call it proof-positive that I’ll never get what some might call laid by an attractive female.
I call it none of those three things. [Zips up pants.] That’ll be all, Jenna. Continue reading