We need to knock on doors to get people vaccinated. And Trumpy Poo was the fascist dictator in charge who launched biological warfare on his own precious economy. I hate the Biden administration more than Jen Psaki’s Strawberry Shortcake White House, house-warming gift for Mr. Groper, like it was nicotine gum to quell his cravings around inhaling her whole in the Oval Office with the lights turned down low. Bob Marley lives, holla, thank you very much.
The Tokyo Olympics will be held without spectators like the NBA Finals, without Drama Queen Diaries.
My 4-year-old son hits me in the stomach as I encourage him to do so, until I have zero beer belly protrude-age left to hit. My father sitting next to us on the lawn chair says, “Don’t hit your daddy.” I say, “It’s ok Dad, I’m teaching him to be a fighter, not a flincher.” My dad says, “Fine, but don’t hit me Samuel or I’ll hit back.” Typical, Democrat reply, “Threaten and attempt to intimidate those deemed smaller in stature than you. Personally, I think my 4-year-old son could break pop’s glasses in 2 if he tried. The kid flicks 5-pound free weights with ease like they were pistachio nut shells flicked at Andy Dick’s head at the Viper Room passed out 2 hours before the ball drop on New Year’s Eve.” Heaven for my 4-year-old son is watching Rocky training montage sequences on YouTube with Daddy on the big screen TV. Next time my dad, tries to disparage good news about Christian lit agents sucking off my pitch letter or “very funny” sample chapter samples from The Koshterian Comedian by saying, “Who cares?” My little fighter will say to Gramps, “You tried knocking Daddy down, why don’t you try knocking me down. Daddy, calls me Hardcore Hunga for a reason, go for it.” Rocky 5 lives. Can I get a holla for more some more primo Gen X references Gen X Dads understand, challah? Thank you very much.