Ever since sucker punching Superjoe in the arm, my life hasn’t been the same. Every day seems empty, capricious, even carnivorous. My dreams are constantly interrupted by someone shouting “Come on man!” in French and Swedish.
I found Jesus, then lost him, then found him again. We’re playing golf next Saturday.
My children left me, then ceased to exist. Maybe I forgot them at the mall?
In my head, Frank won’t stop dancing. Every day he dances like a man possessed, singing Ken Hirai songs…or rather, what I imagine what Ken Hirai songs sound like, since I’ve never heard one.
I’ve come to suspect Trace of joining ICP and converting us all to Juggalos.
Everyone is getting married, but only to people whose last name starts with the letter V. Coincidence?
All I do now is torrent old episodes of Hannity and Colmes. I can’t wait for the movie adaptation.
Yesterday, while walking down the sidewalk, I FADC’d right in front of a girl just to prove I really loved her. She ran away with Jeff Bridges instead.