BigSleep666

If you could see me reading your words, you'd see me making jerk-off gestures with my left hand.

Why the hell do I even know who Carrot Top is?

BigSleep666: Fueled by Tootsie Rolls!

I should get married just to watch my parents dance again. In fact, that's going to be my new pick-up line at bars.

It's inchworm season here in Texas. The inchworms descend from trees in long, thin, invisible strands of sticky secretion. I'm not sure why they do this, other than to gross me out, because I seem to constantly walk into them. This collision of ick is rapidly followed by the fear that I'm then covered in inchworms. This happened a few times this morning in the park and as I flailed my arms about trying to brush insect mucus off of me, singing a beautiful and incoherent song of dissatification and disgust ("AH! blahdey blick god fuck jesus ick smeh!"), I realized that this is exactly why Indiana Jones wears a hat.

I've begun to affectionately refer to my dog as "Supertard."

Yesterday, I sneezed so violently my sunglasses exploded off my face.

The scientific method of SmallDog666 on his daily walks:
[he stops abruptly and thrusts his face into some brush] "This smells like piss!"
[he investigates further, probing with his tongue] "This tastes like piss!"
[he looks up at me, satisfied and knowing] "I bet this is piss."
[repeat every three feet]

"You know, you're awfully flirty for a girl that doesn't want to be with me."

Oh, this makes me laugh!

I'm at work on a Sunday, so not only does the coffee taste like ass, but it tastes like old ass.