I’m not racist; my cat’s mulatto.
Okay, so I can’t lie to you about this anymore: I’m listening to the new Carly Rae Jepsen album.
Doesn’t matter if he’s a doctor. He’s a moron.
It smells like a troll’s dick in here.
I’m wearing my high heels all over the house to pay back my neighbors for having loud sex.
This dinner was like Thanksgiving in Paris.
She looks like a dyke from ten years ago.
Sometimes when I find a bug in my drink, I just push it aside, because I don’t want to feel like I have first-world problems.
I’m obviously old enough to be a member of Culture Club.
This tastes like taint beer.
I’m not going to answer my phone when I’m in fucked-up land.