You’ve seen them, the glossy cards with some absurdly hot girl dancing beside some text. These cards invariably have some pants-wettingly cool way of saying that you can be 18 to party, but you have to be 21 to drink.
Do you know what happens when I shimmy my hips and wave my hands around to the beat? My friends trap me under a bed sheet and beat me with socks full of quarters.
He has a massive brow, as well as a vacant, drooling sort of stare. He wouldn’t notice if you stood him at the bottom of a cliff and dropped an Acme™ anvil on his head, so a few bullets probably won’t slow him down at all.
Since Diddy’s ego is big enough to appear on air traffic control radars, I assumed that he planned to replace James Bond, rather than allow the legendary superspy to be his partner.
Suzie hadn’t invited me to her party, but she was inviting my parents? Could this evening get any worse?.. Could it ever!
The above was part of yet another political discussion taking place on Facebook, the premier forum for solving the world’s problems.
You can imagine how excited I was to hear that Chinese Democracy, the newest album by Guns n’ Roses, might no longer be the elusive Sasquatch of the music world.
I have taken on a new, enlightened personality dedicated to answering important, heartfelt questions about your career, spouse, love life, or any of that other junk.
Perplexed, I stood up and squinted at myself in the large mirror opposite the bath, and nearly burst my Botoxed brow.
I mean, technically, a happy little kid leaving handprints on his parents’ new wallpaper is a painter. And since I take women to untold heights of ecstasy, you could probably call me an astronaut.