You're not Kanye, and you didn't write your mom a song. I know it. Maybe you made her a lame mixtape that hopefully doesn't start with the line "Hey Mama, this that shit that make you move Mama" unless of course your mom is a stripper, or you happen to be the woman who unleashed that retard Will.I.Am through her hopefully regretful vagina. The question I am getting around to asking is, what did you do for your mom for Mother's Day? Here is my list of things I sensed available, that I wish came with an automatic smack to the face with a bologna log upon purchase.
That's like chump change you toss in a cup to the doo-wop guys on the subway.
Cheaper than an issue of Street News, or In Touch.
Treat your mom better than you do the homeless.
Cheaper than an issue of Street News, or In Touch.
Treat your mom better than you do the homeless.
The mom that recieves the broken one is suicidal.
They say it's the thought that counts...And that's why she's suicidal.
They say it's the thought that counts...And that's why she's suicidal.
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I know that to ask these questions is to essentially miss the whole gestalt of the 99 cent shopping experience and this blog but I can't help it:
What the fuck is a wolf doing on a lampshade?
What the fuck is a wolf doing on a lampshade festooned with roses?
What the fuck is a wolf doing on a lampshade festooned with roses inside a Mother's Day gift basket?
The internet has brought me two things that ground my mind to a halt this week: ottoman humping and this shit.
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