What do you get when you cremate a femboy/tomboy?
Trans fat.
Meh thoughts
Browse quick-hit shower thoughts, deadpan one-liners, dark little observations, and questionable micro-rants from Chaotic Meh. They are short, searchable, and emotionally about as stable as a folding chair in a hurricane.
What do you get when you cremate a femboy/tomboy?
Trans fat.
After I invested all my spare cash into an origami business, it folded.
I’ll never make the mistake of signing my name to a filthy Rumination ever again!
I recently visited a U.S. state north of Texas and south of Kansas.
It wasn’t great… but it was OK.
If Saddam Hussein ever kills me with mustard gas, I hope it’s the yellow French’s kind, and not that brown Dijon stuff. I always hated that foo-foo gourmet crap.
Today I was injured when I wrecked my car. I’m not sure what went wrong — I was wearing my airbag, but the seatbelt didn’t deploy.
I told my wife that we’ve been together long enough now, we can poop with the door open…
…She told me I shouldn’t be pooping in the car in the first place!
(Jilly G.) Hiccups are God’s way of saying, “You ain’t getting head tonight.”
The “Take this job and shove it” concept certainly got a lot more fun when I took this position testing 12-inch, 7-levelsof-intensity, hydraulic vibrators.
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