Search results

:shock:

What are you talking about?

You could say it.

My dog. He's obsessed with licking his asshole.

My dog. He's obsessed with licking his asshole. I'm not talking the every now and again lick, lick, yum, yum. I'm talking constantly, obsessively licking his asshole. Everytime I see him doing it, I snap my fingers and say, "don't be an ass eater." He'll look at me for two seconds and...

Like duh!

When I found the skull in the woods, the first thing I did was call the police. But then I got curious about it. I picked it up, and started wondering who this person was, and why he had deer horns.

I don't see any good threads except mine.

I am deaf.

My name is Jack.

If you want to be the popular one at a party, here a good thing to do: Go up to some people who are talking and laughing and say, "Well, technically that's illegal." It might fit in with that somebody just said. And even if it doesn't, so what, I hate this stupid party.

I don't say that the bird is "good" or the bat is "bad." But I will say this: at least the bird is less nude.

What am I afraid of? I'll tell you: a feather. That's right, a feather. How could anyone be afraid of a feather, you say. That's an honest question, and I'll try to give it an honest answer. First of all, did I say it was a poison feather?

I don't think I received enough love when I was a child. And not just from my parents. From my other relatives, and my friends, and from strangers and from all the creatures of the world, including bugs.