Nope, this is it; this is everything. There’s no tricky upper level fine dining bullshit going on here. You’re looking at undercooked, dry as morning marital sex pasta with sauce that looks like it was cooked in hot piss containing corn that basically says “That’s right! I have to come out the other end as well.”
What are you trying to achieve with the presentation here? I mean, you are putting yourself way out there with this dish; you’ve really shot for the stars. You’ve aimed for the catwalk but landed a job at the 3am peep show penetrating yourself for a dollar a minute. You’re a wanker with nothing to wank; it’s like you’ve presented the definition of a lose-lose situation.
I bet you own a fedora. Now I think about it, this is basically the food equivalent of a fedora. No style, no substance, delusionally classy and hinting at a sexual encounter that will never come. Trust me dude, the juice aint worth the squeeze here - put it in one of those big single-guy laksa bowls, hop into bed with your laptop and enjoy your bullshit meal over an episode of Entourage or How I met Your Mother or whatever show is presently breeding those fuckwit ideas on human interaction, dress and class to all the unbearable cunts I’m surrounded by every single fucking minute of every single fucking day.
MommyJacking: Cancer V. Preeclampsia Edition
According to the submitter, “Deana is single, a teacher, probably about 30 and has been battling skin cancer for the past year.” According to me, in light of hearing/confirming this, I really think Sara and Shannon owe Deana an…
stolen from the Shock Mansion http://www.shockmansion.com/2012/01/08/we-love-christian-saints-photography/
Photo: Jure Kravanja
When I was driving last year through Tuscany, Italy, I suddenly saw this beautiful image.
Do-gooders! Stop trying to save the world DURING NAPTIME!! Did you not see the Excel spreadsheet I put on the front door detailing my baby’s sleep schedule? I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: Whales do not need to be saved while my baby is sleeping!
Did my expression not indicate that I was about to rip that stupid charity clipboard out of your hands and crack it over my knee? Or over one of your heads?! JUST TRY ME, do-gooders. Ring my doorbell at an arbitrary time in the middle of the afternoon again, and see what happens!
(submitted by Anonymous)
Model Monique Van Vooren bowling with a kangaroo.