Sometimes you look at an ex and think maybe they’re not so bad. And then they start to talk and remind you why you hate them.

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Told my friends that I was qualified to give them Botox injections. I raised a few eyebrows.


Don’t text me that you’re gonna kick my ass, that lacks passion. Key it on the side of my truck.

Wouldn’t recommend it, but I’d admire you.


Me: Give me your tenderest of loins.

Butcher: That’s not… Please don’t order it that way.


I keep smelling ammonia in my apartment so obviously my organs are failing and I’m going to die. Or a neighbor is cleaning.


When my laptop asks “Are you sure?”, it’s because it still remembers all of the other bad decisions I have made.


My gal pal: “Are you on a diet? You look so nice & thin… What’s you’re secret?!”

Me: “Poverty.”