Tender Reader, we have a good relationship going here. I write funny shit, and then you tell me how amazing I am. I like the way this is working out for me. Starting the blog is probably the best idea I've had since asking that pregnant hooker to meet me at the top of a flight of stairs. Talk about two birds with one stone. I've gotten so much feedback that I let go straight to my head. One reader sent me this, "Your blog is a like a drug, or some type of midnight booty call, if ya need a little something on the side to make your day just a little bit better." Now that's quality fucking feedback. Admittedly, she's probably a dope-whore, and it was a little hard to understand her over the phone with all that cock-meat in her mouth, but I take what I can get. I've even given away a couple t-shirts for various milestones. As I said before, I'm a giver.
Yes, people still give the double-thumbs-up sign. Don't judge her. She also still says "Gimme five, take a chill pill, fart-knocker, Oh snap!, and talk to the hand." Probably has K-Ci and Jojo's "All My Life" rocking in her CD player too. Sorry, "Sweet Cheeks." I couldn't help myself. I also just got an erection thinking about slow-dancing to that song. Thank you semi-talented, harmonizing pop group for allowing me to rub my junk against girls that were trying to figure out if that was really my junk poking them in the stomach. I was a pretty tall lad. I hit puberty pretty early so it gave me a jump-start on masturbation. While you were trying to figure out what that hair was down there, I was trying to figure out what the fuck happened to my jerk-off sock. I left it within arm's reach under the bed. Please God, tell me my mother did not find it while doing laundry. It's not like you can wash one of those things anyway. You could pinch one of those with two fingers and it would stand parallel to the ground. You would have to at least bend it and crack it before you could even get it in the washer.