There’s a real time and place for every human being to eat the sloppiest sandwich ever made. And it’s fucking delicious. Every time.
There’s a real time and place for every human being to eat the sloppiest sandwich ever made. And it’s fucking delicious. Every time.
YES!
It’s a quirky pretentious thing that they take pride in. It’s not Ohio State University. It’s THE Ohio State University
Fair point. I wonder what the weather is like up there on those high horses
If you’re from the Midwest and don’t call it THE Ohio State University you’ve immediately lost my trust. And I didn’t even go there.
Making new frens every day
Cast CROPDUST and watch in delight as the room evacuates due to the stench emanating from your festering bowels.
Literally the first rule of Raccoon Club. You don’t talk about Raccoon Club.
That brake check maneuver is going to haunt her for decades.
I’m terrified to see an AI rendering of what The David, 2 Girls, 1 Cup would look like.
Fight you? You wouldn’t even try fighting back except during the playoffs, Kareem!
If that was the intentent, I get it. But if you’re going to flip the bird you should at least send it INTO the camera to enforce the message. This just feels stupid.
Total eclipse of the fart. Time to put your viewing glasses back on.
Why are most of their palms facing outward?
I’ve never seen it done that way. It seems really uncomfortable and a bad way to to transition into a fistfight if shit’s about to go down.
Yup. These are expert scientists with their hands up in the air explaining how this shit is exponentially hitting the fan.
This is an inflection point. The fire alarms are blaring.
They should get every penny of funding available to deal with this.
Eat shit, Donald.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
My parents didn’t smoke but that’s literally how I knew the babysitter was gone and my parents were home from a night out.