The more time I spend on Twitter the more I realize the only surprising thing about Ellen hanging out with George W. Bush is that people got mad at Ellen at all.
I should just start tweeting that Nixon was good because he would’ve hated Trump and see if the grant money rolls in.
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The children are inconsolable after the rock, due to his massive size, barely appears slimed at all
The Rock futilely tries to smear slime onto his face from his massive shoulders but their cries do not cease. Somewhere in a control room, a blonde woman with a severe haircut screams WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’RE OUT OF SLIME into a black headset
The program hard cuts to a still graphic of spongebob shrugging
Me: I took your advice and started a bullet journal.
My Therapist: Wait, you just drew actual bullets next to ... is this a list of my high school lacrosse team? And where’d you get a Polaroid of the fat kid we used —
Me: Maybe you’d recognize me with my shirt off, Matt.
This is like thirty-five percent a true story.
A 100% true story though: My freshman year, I accidentally got lost on my way from the swimming pool to the locker room wearing only a towel and an older black girl saw me and said “Ooh, honey put your shirt back on” and it was so perfect that to this day I can’t be mad about it.
I hope the super bowl commercials acknowledge literally nothing. I hope they’re all refreshingly tone deaf. I hope Chester cheetah screams EVERYTHING’S FINE and then slaps his own ass
I am tired of commercials that talk to me like my parents just dropped me off at my first therapy session I know everything is fucked show me the grimace
Or the opposite — if commercials are going to act like they care about society, they should really go for it
“Half a million Americans are dead — Drink Sprite while you can”