No Madam,
I express myself gleefully.
Always have.

Poor Mikey.

Yes
Yes I am but I don’t need no weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

It’s a pustule named Mike on Doug’s left ass cheek.

Like it?

Sorry (not)

The only deal that makes sense is if Schumer opted for mutual destruction.

They realize Trump is insane and they will seat Grijalva and let the natural course of events cauterize the supporating stump of blunder.

Then we eventually right the ship of state.

Trump must be plumped for the holidays.

I’ll take “splitting hairs” for five hundred Alex!

Not unusual
The guy next to him is a big fan of booze.

Lube fully before entry

You are the Goddess of the hunt.

You rock.
Of course
You did accidentally kill Orion who you deeply loved
but you then made it so he glides the sparkling night.

Anyway, if they name it after the prolapse l’orange it will forever be reviled and vandalized.

I hereby proclaim the life of rufus (who was a son of Simon of Cyrenē) as fully healed and pure.

These temporary galaxies will soon fade like a popcorn fart.

You rufus

Your beat goes on
(and your cat too)

Yikes! That itches!

The thin lips of a drooling nit.

Show us how this hefty sausage was made.
What did Fetterman get?
Expose it all.
No calumny. Just the deals.
How much does honor and responsibility sell for these dark days?

Your toilet is British.
(I know I know blah blah blah)

These two should not be in show business.

SAG should jerk their ticket.

Mike eats glory.
Eats it whole.