Sharks are jumpin and the cotton is high

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy sexy! I’ve got Zellweger down in the basement Zellwegering the laundry. She knows her way around the delicates, that girl.

Every day (everyday) I think “Man, this is it, the day I finally eat the whole thing.” But I never do. You know why? Because I am Bartleby. I prefer not to. Also, I am too lazy to walk to the fridge. I wish the ceiling would just rain Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. I could tip my head back like a baby bird.

What do I prefer, you ask? Well, there’s shouting at the help, kicking the pets, and cheating on my spouse. And heavy, heavy drinking. This morning’s plans were spontaneous: I ran someone off the road for the first time in a long while, and that was great. After evading the police, I arrived home just in time to lay a trap for the mailman. I’ve hidden a black widow spider in the box! Now I’m going to have Consuela (my dumbass housekeeper with the stereotypical housekeeper name) throw out all the expired yogurts.

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