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Yes, my uterus is rioting and tearing apart the baby nursery it spent a month making.
Mr. Dicky-doo probably wants pussy, dick, drugs, or all three at the same time.” “Mr. Dicky-doo?” Serrano stupidly asked. “It’s when his stomach sticks out more than his dicky do.”
“Thank you for giving me you,”
“Don’t you have a meeting? I don’t want to keep you. We can pencil this in for a later date.” “And when would that be?” “February thirty-first?”
He has the emotional range of a potato.
