My female friend, who admitted to me that she has a crush on comedian Louis C.K. I can relate to my pal's situation, having maintained fantasy sexual relationships with celebrities dating back to my earliest masturbatorial daydreams with Mary Tyler Moore, continuing through to my long term relationship during my teenage years with Linda Ronstadt, and right up to my recent dalliance with Disney Channel teen heartthrob Laura Marano that I had to break off because it was just too creepy. I was concerned about my buddy hooking up with Mr. C.K. because of the considerable difference in their bio-masses and the fact that if she imagined the two of them in the wrong sexual position, she could easily wind up being crushed. Then I remembered that this is a fantasy relationship, and just as when the diminutive Audrey Hepburn sported DD breasts during our few furtive nooners following an afternoon screening of Roman Holiday on TCM, my friend could visualize the rotund Mr. C.K. with the chiseled physique of a teenage swimming champion as she reaches for a freshly-peeled cucumber while his standup special Chewed Up plays on YouTube in the background. While she's at it, she should add an extra inch or two to his wang to avoid any potential embarrassment. I forgot to do that to myself once, and Audrey Hepburn couldn't stop laughing.
My beloved pug Winston. As the week was drawing to a close and people were clinging for anything to live for until the weekend was upon us, I became inundated with requests to post photos of Winston on the social network. I grudgingly complied, and each photo was met with the usual responses of oohs and ahhs and promises to lavish him with countless types of physical affection if only he was in the same room with them. The thing is, I am in the same room with Winston most of the time, and he is an obese, flatulent ball of pug fat who eats too much, drinks too much, and has little-to-no control over his bowels or bladder. In short, he is the canine version of me. Yet when I post a photo of myself online, people beg me to remove it so that their computer monitors don't become saturated with vomit as opposed to Winston's, which otherwise normal people print out in order to cuddle and perhaps provide a hand job to. I'm not sure why Winston's self indulgent lifestyle has resulted in him being a sex symbol while mine has made me a social pariah, and I don't have time to give it much thought now. Winston just belched, and it was so cute that I need to hug him and maybe give him a hand job.
The always-annoying Amy Ball, who has traveled to the farthest reaches of China in order to sell coffee to our friends from the Orient. We have all heard the expression "not for all the tea in China,"indicating that the country is overloaded with Long Jing (the green tea produced close to the West Lake of Hangzhou) but they've been denied Taster's Choice since the cultural revolution. Ms. Ball is in China to change all that by subjecting its citizens to the overwhelming Ball personality that will leave them so exhausted after fifteen minutes of listening to her that they'll need to load up on coffee just to stay awake. It's a brilliant marketing plan, much like getting someone addicted to morphine by crushing their pelvis. True, being subjected to Ms. Ball isn't quite as painful but there's always the chance that her hosts won't think the coffee is doing the trick and simply end it all by jumping off the Great Wall instead of having to listen to her yammer. They might break their pelvises in the process so I hope that she brought some morphine in addition to the coffee. It's always good to have a back-up plan.
The decreasingly annoying Amara Christian, who has been off my radar for far too long. Ms. Christian tweeted an inspiring message on Twitter about how people's unique features are what make them beautiful, lambasting our current quest as a society to glorify a physical ideal that is impossible to attain. Ms. Christian's message was immediately responded to by some troglodyte who opined "You could use a tit job and a nose job #yikes." In fact, Ms. Christian is a singularly attractive young woman who needs neither, and I would advise her not to pay any attention to idiots of this ilk. As someone who has been fearlessly speaking the truth on the Internet for years, I am frequently confronted with taunts like "asspotato" from low-lifes who are threatened by my wisdom. The more savage their responses, the better I know that my words have hit their mark. So anyone who reads this and feels like responding by telling me that I need a tit job and a nose job, go right ahead. My man boobs may not be to your liking, but there are plenty of people out there who think I'm hot just the way I am. Sadly for you, there isn't a plastic surgeon out there who can slice the carbuncles off your hideous personality. #yikes.
My nemesis Misty LaRue, who bitched to me that she found it impossible to get through the Enemies List anymore because the entries had gotten too long and verbose for her to read. I didn't realize that reading a lengthy paragraph was so difficult for her, so in the future I'll do my best to boil them down to their essence. In this case, it's that Misty LaRue is an asspotato.
My female friend, who admitted to me that she has a crush on comedian Louis C.K. I can relate to my pal's situation, having maintained fantasy sexual relationships with celebrities dating back to my earliest masturbatorial daydreams with Mary Tyler Moore, continuing through to my long term relationship during my teenage years with Linda Ronstadt, and right up to my recent dalliance with Disney Channel teen heartthrob Laura Marano that I had to break off because it was just too creepy. I was concerned about my buddy hooking up with Mr. C.K. because of the considerable difference in their bio-masses and the fact that if she imagined the two of them in the wrong sexual position, she could easily wind up being crushed. Then I remembered that this is a fantasy relationship, and just as when the diminutive Audrey Hepburn sported DD breasts during our few furtive nooners following an afternoon screening of Roman Holiday on TCM, my friend could visualize the rotund Mr. C.K. with the chiseled physique of a teenage swimming champion as she reaches for a freshly-peeled cucumber while his standup special Chewed Up plays on YouTube in the background. While she's at it, she should add an extra inch or two to his wang to avoid any potential embarrassment. I forgot to do that to myself once, and Audrey Hepburn couldn't stop laughing.
My beloved pug Winston. As the week was drawing to a close and people were clinging for anything to live for until the weekend was upon us, I became inundated with requests to post photos of Winston on the social network. I grudgingly complied, and each photo was met with the usual responses of oohs and ahhs and promises to lavish him with countless types of physical affection if only he was in the same room with them. The thing is, I am in the same room with Winston most of the time, and he is an obese, flatulent ball of pug fat who eats too much, drinks too much, and has little-to-no control over his bowels or bladder. In short, he is the canine version of me. Yet when I post a photo of myself online, people beg me to remove it so that their computer monitors don't become saturated with vomit as opposed to Winston's, which otherwise normal people print out in order to cuddle and perhaps provide a hand job to. I'm not sure why Winston's self indulgent lifestyle has resulted in him being a sex symbol while mine has made me a social pariah, and I don't have time to give it much thought now. Winston just belched, and it was so cute that I need to hug him and maybe give him a hand job.
The always-annoying Amy Ball, who has traveled to the farthest reaches of China in order to sell coffee to our friends from the Orient. We have all heard the expression "not for all the tea in China,"indicating that the country is overloaded with Long Jing (the green tea produced close to the West Lake of Hangzhou) but they've been denied Taster's Choice since the cultural revolution. Ms. Ball is in China to change all that by subjecting its citizens to the overwhelming Ball personality that will leave them so exhausted after fifteen minutes of listening to her that they'll need to load up on coffee just to stay awake. It's a brilliant marketing plan, much like getting someone addicted to morphine by crushing their pelvis. True, being subjected to Ms. Ball isn't quite as painful but there's always the chance that her hosts won't think the coffee is doing the trick and simply end it all by jumping off the Great Wall instead of having to listen to her yammer. They might break their pelvises in the process so I hope that she brought some morphine in addition to the coffee. It's always good to have a back-up plan. 
The decreasingly annoying Amara Christian, who has been off my radar for far too long. Ms. Christian tweeted an inspiring message on Twitter about how people's unique features are what make them beautiful, lambasting our current quest as a society to glorify a physical ideal that is impossible to attain. Ms. Christian's message was immediately responded to by some troglodyte who opined "You could use a tit job and a nose job #yikes." In fact, Ms. Christian is a singularly attractive young woman who needs neither, and I would advise her not to pay any attention to idiots of this ilk. As someone who has been fearlessly speaking the truth on the Internet for years, I am frequently confronted with taunts like "asspotato" from low-lifes who are threatened by my wisdom. The more savage their responses, the better I know that my words have hit their mark. So anyone who reads this and feels like responding by telling me that I need a tit job and a nose job, go right ahead. My man boobs may not be to your liking, but there are plenty of people out there who think I'm hot just the way I am. Sadly for you, there isn't a plastic surgeon out there who can slice the carbuncles off your hideous personality. #yikes. 
My nemesis Misty LaRue, who bitched to me that she found it impossible to get through the Enemies List anymore because the entries had gotten too long and verbose for her to read. I didn't realize that reading a lengthy paragraph was so difficult for her, so in the future I'll do my best to boil them down to their essence. In this case, it's that Misty LaRue is an asspotato.