At the “urban” Goodwill right next to the “urban” mall, I found proof that the government aren’t the only people trying to keep the “urban” man down with this hanging on the wall underneath an overhanging banner reading “For the Job Interview” Um…no. Unless you’re looking for a job as a professional shanker, um…no. But also…no.
As soon as I read your email I raced over to the “urban” Goodwill to check out what else they had to help me get ahead in life (since I already have a job). I found this little number underneath an overhanging banner reading “For the Catalina Wine Mixer”.
Cobrasnake’s van has been parked across the street from my hotel for the past two nights. If you see my face on the side of a kombucha bottle you know what happened.
This morning I got into a black car with tinted windows and a stranger behind the wheel. He lured me into the backseat with this candy. I had to pay him money before he would let me out of the car.
I wonder what percentage of each fare LA Town Car has to pay to Kidnapping Inc in royalties?
Are those Werther’s Original’s? Was my grandpa driving you?
Yes and I’m not sure. How Spanish is your grandpa?
Let’s imagine the future eHarmony dating profile of this unborn child.
Relationship status: Single
Body type: Marshmallow consistency
Ethnicity: White
Education: Bartenders Academy
Drink: Carlo Rossi
Smoke: Newports
Occupation: I used to be a day manager at Applebee’s before that whole “To Catch a Predator” fiasco. Now I wear a Statue of Liberty costume while handing out $10 off coupons for oil changes.
Turn-on’s: Partying, SIMS 3, fine women, VEGAS!, import cars.
My turn!
Lifestyle: Jeager Bombs til I FKN puke
Background: It was a strange day, the day I woke up to watch my mother die. She lay there, her skin a chilling white. A dull white. The white of a wedding dress tarnished by decades of abandon. Her skin was a frame. A place holder. An enshrinement for something I once held in regard. She was my mother, but now she was starling. I sat at her bed for no longer then 15-seconds, but the moment seemed to last hours. She looked at me with haunting eyes. Eyes flecked with gold and shrouded in speckled feathers. Each feather a crystal. A crystal brilliantly showcasing 18 billions waves of magnificent light. Each wave the only remains I still recognized inside her tomb of dull skin. Each wave telling me, “I love you. I miss you. I am already gone.” I refused to cry when these waves subsided. I refused to cry at all. I’ve refused so much, but the haunting of her waves…the haunting of things I refuse…they’ve framed me in their own abandoned enshrinement. My imperfect offering to the day I woke up to watch my mother die.
Values: Collectin’ interest on some pussy.
My ideal date: You pick me up after I get off work and we go to a quaint little Italian joint on the Eastside. Three minutes into the drive I pull something out of my backpack, an (almost full) bottle of Sailor Jerry Rum and lewdly hint that this gift “is for later”. You do not throw me out of the car. After enjoying a classy dinner you silently pay for your half of the $25 bill because after all, I believe in women’s lib. We indulge in another libation, which you subsequently pay for. You then drive me to my the front door of my apartment and pretend to look in your purse while I wait for you begin making out with me. After forty-five seconds I figure you must be on your period or something so I say goodnight and call you relentlessly for the next three weeks.
(Business Casual Rules Everything Around Me)
As soon as I read your email I raced over to the “urban” Goodwill to check out what else they had to help me get ahead in life (since I already have a job). I found this little number underneath an overhanging banner reading “For the Catalina Wine Mixer”.
