Best thing ever

I know this is old news, but I cannot help laughing my ass off anyway.

Sigh

Just when I think I'm out... THEY PULL ME BACK IN!

Who you ask? Al Pacino? Wilford Brimley? Which agent of the devil are conspiring to inspire such ennui in me?

Oh, just CATS again:



So there I am, innocently watching Miss Marple (my effing HERO, beeteeDUBZ) , while efficiently multitasking by looking for pics of multi-hued bears on the internet, as is my wont... when the above MENACING CAT FREAKSHOW leaps to my attention.

The soporific effects of Marple and colourful bears are LOST to me now!



Not even Geraldine McEwan's icy yet kindly appraising gaze can soothe my fevered brow after the assault of those hideous felines.

Then, running for the safety of the internet, where many-coloured bears await me, I encounter THIS ungodly affront to mine eyes:



GUMMI BEARS ON A PREGNANT BELLY

SO uncaled for! Whhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Internet, you have deceived me.

Pulling it off

Folks, it's that time again. The time when I stress the eff out and fill in my visa application to stay in the UK.

But you know what? I'm playing it cool this time. How cool, you ask?

This fucking cool:



Rollin' down the street with my homesleeces, laid back as can be... just minding my own, the peaceable kingdom, mofos. OR...





Keeping a cool head while getting psyched up for a rumble. The old pancake makeup that Bernardo's wearing might be a bit much, but I'm all about those jazz hands. And SPEAKING of jazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzazzazzzzzzazzaz




Ah, sax playing turtle, you just sum it all up, don't you? Devil may care, playing your song down by the waterfront, singing the blues just because you can. The epitome of cool. You are my Yoda.


Welp, until next time, mates. Maybe catch you down at the pub for a game of pool?



Red ball, corner pocket, bitches!

Laters.

Paying it Forward

Sweaters for chickens, y'all:






Muthafunking CHICKENZZZZZZ.

Does it get better? Of effing course it does, fools:



Oh my gawd, I am so plotzing right now. PLOTZING, people. Tiny little rabbit sweater. It's like a merciful god has heard my feverish nighttime prayers at LAST and- what? What's that, merciful benefactor?




DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. Seriously? Pig in tiger's clothing? Can life be this sweet? I feel my heart swelling like the chipmunk cheeks of deathmask-like John McCain:




Whatcha got in there, John? Some fuel for the winter months, I hope! It's gonna be a long one.

Cool

Wazzzup bitches? Joe Cool here, maxin', relaxin' and satistfaxin'.

I know I have effectively just blown your collective minds by FINALLY revealing my true identity and coming out of the closet as Snoopy's alter ego Joe Cool.

Yes, tis I. I simply slip on a pair of shades, lean against any available surface and assume my mantle of coolness. Par exemple, I have chosen a juke box as my lean of choice:



But wait, what is this? It seems OTHERS have tried to usurp my throne and throw down the GAUNTLET of coolness? My nemesis:



LOOK at him, skulking about, trying to MACK on my style.

It gives me chills.

Oh, hello!

Mornin'!

How tempting is it just pack the whole 'job' shit in, pack a hobo's bindle, hit the rails and wind up at a goose cottage far, far away?

Light a campfire and crack open a can of hobo soup...



SURELY you have dreamed this same dream? We are soulmates, you and I. I always knew it. Wild hearts that cannot be tamed.

Now fuck off while I watch Saturday Kitchen.

x

So...

I joined Twitter so I could follow Danny DeVito without being arrested for stalking.

Lesson learned? Twitter makes even Danny DeVito boring.