It's just allergies, I swear. I'm allergic to eating live possum.
Listen, folks. It isn't eating bats that caused the virus. It's stacking wild animals on top of each other and letting them fuck. God caused this. Blame God. He's the real invisible enemy. Let's kill God! Yay!
Great. The whatever-the-fuck-that-thing-is band is playing the elevator today.
Listen, kid. I can do a trim. I can do a shave. I can do a live de-feathering. But I can't do them all at once.
Did you have an erection lasting four or more hours? Did you call your doctor? Whom but yourself is to blame, sir?
I believe it prudent to say that the New Yorker contacted me and offered me a job at their not-funny department. I told them I would cooperate. They emailed me back with simply: "coöperate." I haven't heard from them since. Too bad, too. Because I had a bunch of zingers lined up about going to a therapist, and organic free range whatever the fuck. Impeachment, what have you.
I LOVE RUSSIA.
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