If you sleep 4 hours at night but you really slack it for like 20 of the remaining hours does it really matter?

You know what I don't get; jobs

My good buddy ass face mcgee gave me some good advice the other day.

Party tip of the day: 1- Don't ever wear boots. EVER!

I hate STD Phace or Faychay or Whateverthefuck his name is. He sucks. He sucks big, fatass balls. Balls of pure rhino poop stew.
On the other hand, he's alright. . . For a gaywad who likes being a loser.

I was reading this newfangled contraption called the newspaper today and I happened upon what journalists refer to as "news stories". Apparently, the king of New Buckingham was accidentally killed when a shotgun was placed too near his bed and blew up his cat who was trained to reset his electronic pillminder when a mad bomber accidentally knocked it over. Unfortunately, in the noontime, his pet cat loved to rest on the countertop in the kitchen, but it was being sprayed for pet cats and that is one pet cat that is too smart to fall victim to such a silly, silly plot of deceit and hatred. So, he had decided to sleep on the king's bed and found himself a victim of an even more elaborate conspiracy to destroy this small slice of New Buckingham royalty.
Sad news. . . I think.

I know you, the loyal fans of my website, are probably a little upset, perhaps even a little scared by the length of time it has been since I last posted. Well, all I can tell you is that if you would just mind your own god damn business rather than constantly trying to figure out every minute detail of my personal life, you'd probably be less of douches. And to those of you who have come across my blog by way of accidental me sending you a post that reads:
U R GAE blah blah blah
and now feel like it is your own personal mission in life to get back at me in any immature manner you can possibly think of, ranging from leaving the same comment five times under a single post of mine to writing an entire essay explaining why I am so much cooler than you, or whatever purpose the essay that some, clearly fat, advice bloggerist has chosen to write was supposed to serve, I feel obligated to tell you that, though there is no hope for you, you have provided me with a great deal of entertainment for the short time you have engaged in this feud over a rather simple joke. Douchebags.
Perhaps most ironic is your comments about my security with my masculinity. First things first, even if I were gay, there would be no reason to attack the fact that I would be unmanly. Secondly, it would seem to me that the greater deal of gender confusion would come from the person who was unable to cope with the threat of being "GAE". Then again, I've apparently been raped by my father, who evidently gave me my unusually small penis, I am physically incapable of pleasing a woman and have thusly become a homosexual, then turned to all out hatred.
But I don't hate you. I don't hate you at all. In fact, I love you. I love you because if it weren't for you who would I laugh at when they struggled and failed to achieve happiness? Other smart people. Yes, other smart people. I don't discriminate, I just don't care.
Well, bye.
Oh yeah, U R GAE. Ah, I see you're already here.