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.