Thanks for the love. Put it over there.

To the guy who cut me off on the highway: Hi. How ya doin’? Oh, hey, guess what… your wife has syphilis. How do I know? How do you think I know? Do I really think she deserved it? I dunno. I don’t concern myself with those details. Have a good night and say hello to your whore daughter for me.

Another day at work, another 8 dollars in the bank. I high-fived three people today and you all know who you are. You all should probably realize that I spent the better part of the morning pulling black fluff off my wang. That’s pretty disgusting, I know. Being me isn’t fun. It’s a flabby, stinky thrill ride, but that doesn’t really equate to “fun.”

I went out to Subway for lunch. A woman in a full burqa with only her eyes exposed came in after me. I went about eating my cold cut combo and thought little of it. However, I really, really hoped she’d sit down and go for a huge bite of her sweet onion chicken teriyaki and forget to first uncover her mouth. She’d giggle with embarrassment and try to quickly wipe the sweet onion sauce from the black fabric. Our eyes would then meet and I’d point out the honey mustard stain on my shirt. We’d share a giggle and then go back to her place where we’d watch a Hugh Grant romantic comedy, eat popcorn balls and I’d pay her to burn me with cigarettes.

Just saw a trailer for the movie Untraceable. If you haven’t already seen it, here.

It’s about a website where a guy is dying and as the number of visitors to the site increases, the faster he dies. (Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I MEAN, HOW MANY BIG MACS DO I HAVE TO EAT TO KEEP YOU PEOPLE ENTERTAINED?!?!) I hear there’s a scene where one of the victims (who happens to be enormous and wear glasses) goes to the bathroom for a number 2 and eats two cream-cheesed bagels while he’s in there. He then takes a pee in the sink, blow dries his hair and applies cover-up to his pimples before putting on two pairs of underwear and heading out. Thanks, Sony. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.