It’s not clear when Mariah Carey became the symbol of Christmas in America. Somebody got to inflating her up on Madison and 82nd in the staging area for the Macy’s Day Parade and there she came down the route waving and singing something pre-taped several weeks ago in a steam bath. In the past few years Mariah has gone from a sex symbol to your grandma who pulls out that low cut dress once a year just to experience anybody staring at her chest again. Carrying Nick Cannon ages you in Presidential years. Keep the oversized sunglasses on when Santa bones you. He has a reputation too.
A report by Rolling Stone magazine which has the authenticity of your drunk uncle on this third Jim Beam and eggnog, claims that more and more Silicon Valley programmers are taking small doses of LSD to pick up their productivity in lieu of the traditional Diet Coke funnels and Minecraft banter. Adderall also has been a popular recreational drug in the Valley because self-diagnosing ADHD is less painful than looking in the mirror and realizing you’re just a super fucking annoying chatterbox. Techs on the tiny daily doses of acid or shrooms claim a renewed vigor with their work, creativity explosions, and a general sense of mental clarity. While coworkers describe their dosing peers as spacey fucks who you have to yell at four times before they hear you. There’s no scientific evidence to support the enhanced worker status of these illegal psychotropics, but Google is making them available in large bowls at the end of cubicle rows just in case. It’s a suggestion, not an order. As in, I suggest you drop some acid, Steve, or I will be ordered to fire you. This does explain why every game app has to do with shiny colored candy.
Black Friday is traditionally the day when hordes of chemically defective people race into Target and Best Buy to save eleven dollars at the cost of their ulnae and remaining dignity. I know. You camped out and saved $200. Someday I’ll explain to you how that’s not the same as a job. This woman here snatches a sale item from a child during a fracas. Is she the biggest winner or the biggest loser? That’s the thing about Black Friday, it’s like living in the bush. Jesus and the UN give you the authority to kill Cecil the Lion when he stalks you for dinner. That’s different than flying business class from Minneapolis to bag him with a GPS tracker. The rules are there are no rules. It’s underground Bangkok fighting for fat women with lots of cousins. Poke that girl’s eye out. Who brings a kid to Black Friday?
Seems paid attendance at the OU women’s rugby matches had narrowed down to family members and a sheepish looking guy named Barnaby who technically isn’t supposed to be attending public sporting events. The kids decided to put on a show to save the school. Nude calendars are where you go to when Fiona binge ate all the fundraiser Pepperidge Farm gift baskets.
Female rugby players are unfairly stereotyped as mannish lesbians when in fact that is at best seventy-percent of the scrum. The other thirty-percent clearly infiltrated the calendar shoot because this is far better looking than anybody expected from the title. It’d be nice to see tits in a nude calendar. 2016 already feels like a lie.
For all the hyperbolized doomsaying, there’s a good chance you’ll be around next Thanksgiving. Maybe a few of us will be dead from ISIS. ISIL, when you want to pretend to care. I always expected mall attacks launched from the Chess King. I have young Muslim men in my Super Bowl of terrorism betting grid. I’m feeling confident. Global warming will kill precisely none of us. A person too old to drive will run some of us over. Brake, gas, gas, brake. It’s just a pedal. I served in Korea. AARP got my back. Use a condom if you intend to ass fuck. Two if it’s Charlie Sheen. I can’t stand the thought of losing you. That’s meant for the lone attractive woman who reads the site. If you have to wonder if it’s you, it’s not. Bernie Sanders stream of consciousness rape is still rape even if you did it through a whole in the sheet. The dead member of Kriss Kross carried that band. Happy Thanksgiving.
You’re not gay because you want to have sex with Holly Holm. You’re gay because you want her to peg you with her six inch clit while instructing you on how to help her fake her pee test. She’s ordering Muscle Milk on your Amazon account and already took your spot in the weekly poker game. Holly Holm doesn’t cry when she comes up empty on a flush draw. Your buddies like her better. Learn how to tie a proper sheepshank. The champ can’t risk injury to her fists tying you up.
Social media has created a bevy of girls contemporarily famous for sharing photos of themselves mostly naked. If you’re reading that as a criticism, you’re reading it wrong. Pamela Anderson had to win the tiny chick with implants lottery to punch her ticket to a Malibu mansion. There were a hundred chicks behind her whose names you’ll never know. The playing field is now completely even. You’re on a basic cable show that gets two million viewers? Fantastic. I’ve never even had a call back from casting and I’ve got six million followers on Instagram. An e-cigarette company is paying me more to smoke in photos than your SAG Tier 3 residuals. What star you were born under and who you’re willing to fuck that’s important no longer matters. This is the democratic liberation of the masses with big tits. Athens is weeping.