Writed too hard and failed a few languages. What is up, my brown excretions? What is up, my Israeli Gaza Strippers (one tip = one like!) Something something, let's get to the Americanistic, unrealistic, spastic quixoticists in the midst of the this written tryst. So, where we again?
It's probably Monday—it's probably the unofficial first day of the week. Might hit up a bar later with los amigos, mi compadres. Tres idiotos, lol. Los huevos on those brothers.
I think that's 5 spaces. Blogger dot com autosaving and thus saving this masterpiece from the darknet lingerers. So where at at? We doing this thing? We gf-bf or just waifu-Facebook-liker-extraordinaire.
Y'all stupidheads don't even smoke crack. It's 8:04 on a Monday and I'm Bloggering like a 2005 Emily Gould. Referenced all over her adorned white bosom. Like seriously, if you haven't fucked a-cups in your lifetime, get a Lifetime O—eh too easy.
Spellchecked this whole damn post and. Like, what's up with. Periods are the new em slashy dash'ems. Trashy mash'ems by Girl Talk and his decaying ilk. Lamb sent me a hot smash'em and I upvoted it and it magically became the top post on iFunny dot app.
Aight, y'all are tired of my overhyped writtenisms. Write write wrought writhing white flight out of this blogged soggy ghetto. Whom even grammar-checks anymore? We just look for those red squigglies and peace it. As a 100-year-old centenarian-grammarian-aquarium, I miss the days went we could shoot a minority just for misplacing a subject modifier. Fucking millennials, am I riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight? C U N T. This Tuesday, my bizzle.
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