So my role as a walking community service announcement is well established. This only serves to confirm it:
Divine on Salada crackers or on fresh white bread with butter and the whipped peanutty goodness. Even better on toast. With butter. And yes, American and Canadian friends, we have only JUST got whipped peanut butter on our supermarket shelves. Shut.Up.
I first saw the following a few weeks back but I freaking adore it and it keeps popping into my head and making me smile. Nothing wrong with that I say. Your handsome arsed Grandfather had one blade AND polio. Looking good popop!
I’m no Vanderbuilt but this train makes hay. *toot toot*
It is against my religion to post anything about cats on this blog. I wear it as a badge of honour, like the fact I have never seen Titanic or The Notebook. But this, this is fucking funny.
Your morning ennui:
I am free to go.
Yet I remain.
The white idiot writhes on his chair, begging for cheeseburgers.
I’m surrounded by morons.
The whipped cream in the bathroom is not whipped cream.
Who doesn’t need a magical unicorn mask? The comments are AWESOME.
Awesome article – now there are gays in space. Charlie Brooker, I could kiss you.
It must be awful, being a homophobe. Having to spend all that time obsessing about what gay people might be doing with their genitals. Seeing it in your mind, over and over again, in high-definition close-up. Bravely you masturbate, to make the pictures go away, but to no avail. They’re seared onto your mental membranes. Every time you close your eyes, an imaginary gay man’s imaginary penis rises from the murk, bowing ominously in your direction, sensing your discomfort. Laughing. Mocking. Possibly even winking. How dare they, this man and his penis? How dare they do this to you?
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Blackbird’s Middle (son) proved this image – in all its hotness – was real
+ + + + +
And well, this. Nothing needed except to say CHANNING TATUM IN A MOVIE ABOUT BEING A MALE STRIPPER:
As you were.