Stay At Home Comedian kills on Thanksgiving.
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Narcissist thought progression.
She can’t write.
His writing sucks out loud to.
How do they get paid to write this shit at all?
Does becoming a dad make you less of a narcissist? Not really. How can I be, after all 3 of my kids became automatic fans of me?
When your mom’s least favorite, you’re forced to build up your ego because she won’t do it for you. Why else would I seek laugh yanker love from strangers on WordPress for some Saturday night feeling fever?
A plus narcisscist will go the extra mile to put down other’s whenever their sensé of supériority is threatened like the time when Alec Baldwin called his smoking hot future model daughter with Kim Bassinger a fat pig birthed by Cupid and pre-op Chaz Bono. All because his daughter Ireland showed more aroused interest in Stephen Baldwin’s retelling her what he did to get in shape before auditioning for the rôle of 3 time state champion Brian Shute in Vision Quest over Alec bitching about the time Sean Connery sunk his Battleship between takes on The Hunt For Red October. Insisting over Thanksgiving every year how he wanted to kill the cinematographer for giving him a permanent squint from trying to make out the contours of his crafted scruff from so many wide angle asshole shots in his trailer.
Does a narcissist freak out if a lesser friend doesn’t text back with an automatic LOL, knowing they should feel blessed for getting another A plus topical joke fresh off the press? Yes, but the rage subsides when they reply back with that LOL eventually, which is bitter sweet because you can receive délayed measured praise from your mother. So you classify them as off the dream team friend list because they don’t suck you off fast enough with such frothy, feasting relish.
If he was a real friend, he’d admit to living a zest free existence without my texts and whiff of vivacious wonderfullness in a post covid ruined universe. Surprised he hasn’t contemplated suicide for being forced to feel like such an edgeless hack in comparaison actually.
More drain droning dumpage from the mentally deranged mind of an a plus Narcissist man. Hey babe, did you know Peloton instructors make 300K for giving empty shout outs to BLM on a bike in no rush to riot with their brothers and sisters in Kenosha causing more than 2 billion dollars in property damage this past summer while only racking up one new 60 minute ride within AC controlled splendor per week? So that’s why their so fucking happy all the time, unless Jess King interupts her guided bike rides to stern shame any customers for ever saying any hateful things about her online, who only sold a spleen for the privledge of being annoyed to death by her squeaky doll voice, humorless asides and overtly clubby, whoreish, but-her face, Joan impression from Mad Men. I could be a Peloton instructor if I wanted to babe. None of the instructors are funny except Cody but he isn’t Mario Cantone gay funny either. And all their playlists are more uneven than Jess King’s misty mountain tits.
I’d titty blast her once before losing all interest in banging her esophogus out of place again. If I really need to know what her astral aura feels like inside, then I’ll stick my dick in a carved pumpkin and fill it with my own seeds of perverse pleasure inside.
Peloton won’t allow the hashtag #GoBrandon. I’m going to use #MolestingDemoracy.
Which fate is more préférable? Dead deer or an eye popping Bill from the Body Shop? Daughter says, “But the deer feels pain.” A plus narcissist daddy devoid of empathy for Bambi’s extended family says, “Getting pumped by a body shop for all your worth, as they bleed all your fun in the sun savings dry hurts your insides more.”
A balancing rock therapist is a perfect match for an A plus narcissist because your unquestioned, uninterupted voice, vibrates off the rock with more balanced shooting vibtato. And it doesn’t accusé you of being an informericial in honor of yourself like my hate speech counslor does either. But the hate speech therapist social worker I’m forced to see against my free will because I’m an A plus narcissist, thinks getting a copywriter job in Boca Roton is laughable. His smug snivel laugh sucked up his entire upper lip on the spot. But Vermont has the most new cases of Covid from being the most dosed state. Doctor Timothy Leary wouldn’t need to drop more acid to see if the CEO of Pfizer and Fuck Face Fauici are full of shit as the neverending shit show dumps on. Looks like your bad trip on MSNBC spiked proganda has just begun. But I’m the wrongheaded narcissist, you edgeless, blah breathed jerkoff. Did I pass the A plus narcissist test yet? Challah, thank you very much.
What could you say in the media’s defense for trying to outlaw self-defense while pushing to make Kyle Rittenhouse their foamed over sacrificial lamb in the process?
Let mob rule. But if Kyle Rittenhouse was Elliot Page, formerly known as Juno, the media would lionize this Eagle Scout, Sharp Shooter, as America’s Toxic Tomboy Avenger. Who’s the only one allowed to shoot ANTIFA’s diplomatic immunity up their ass by claiming they were begging for it and kept coming back for more.
The Toxic Tomboy Avenger could get away with jamming a plunger up the Black Panther’s ass for shits and giggles if she he wanted to. The following the day the NY Times prints thèse headlines: Plunging Is The New Gerbiling.” “Give Forced Sodomy A Chance.” “Shitting Out Homophobia One Plunger At A Time.” “Flabbergasted Or Bug In Your Ass Free?”
Black Panther eventually acts in self-defense and swats the plunger up Toxic Tomboy’s Avenger’s ass before choking his attacker out with Diane Keaton’s tie from Annie Hall. Black Panter turns Kyle Rittenhouse white after the gay mafia bought off jury declares him guilty of premediated murder and aggressively active assault on an androgynous actor’s anus hole, formerly known as Juno in Dave Chappelle’s wildest pot powered dream.
Do It All Dad, now 45 and still an unemployed stay at home comedian who just recorded his 45th comedy record to mark every year on this earth, for an eventual box set release on his 46th birthday on April 18th, Totality Of Me. Still Do It All Dad was getting perpetually downer weepy inside whenever his ebullient, radiantly fun, non-stop hilarious, rollicking son, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, would ask him in another innocuous inquisitive, I wanna know manner, “How old are you moron?” Do It All Dad would constantly get snipply, prickly about it, and snap back with heart punctuated disgust for not being a highly employable, in demand comedian writer star yet and bluster out, “45 kiddo, stop reminding me already. At least Marvin Gaye implanted his fair share of sexual healing, by the time his cross dressing father shot him with at 45 with a Colt 45.”
Do It All Dad is in the process of posting comedy record 45, Reclusive Rocker Shreds on to his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, Dad friendly entertainment for you and me, while his son finishes watching The Last Jedi, where the reclusive Luke comes back to fight Darth Vader’s mope maligned millennial mouseketeer grandson by not fighting at all like a less fancy, flat footed Obi One. When the far from centered in real life, easily Trump triggered Mark Hamill espouses another deadweight conversationalist TomTom shit line to Kylo, “Strike me down in anger and I’ll always be with you. Just like your father.” In other words, there’s actually a huge upside in letting you kill me without having to break a sweat. Because A) You don’t have to humiliate me like an out of shape Tyson against Buster Douglass. Who couldn’t be bothered to find a Kettlebell to work on my core to escape an encroaching Sarlacc on Tatooine as a throwback return to some hardcore revisionist Jedi training of yesteryear. Plus B) By letting you strike me down Kylo Ren, I’ll always be lurking inside your good side conscious, when the opportunity comes to save Rey and make peace with killing off the coolest Dad imaginable. Who made the Kesel run faster than my space Kliff bars went through Yoda’s stench swampy colon on your loner Dagobah system that made Charles Bukowski come off as less cagy earthy for a a change. Also what kind of name is Kylo Ren exactly? Kylo Ren sounds like an edgeless jerkoff who rebrands himself as a Creative Technologist on LinkedIn. Who’s 2 galaxies removed from the Crimson Guard Twins in GI Joe who are trust fund terrorist babies cloaked in white priveledge. Who burn their modeling money from Ralph Lauren at the track and on extra gummy horses like AOC’s future failed run for Senate of New York after Schumer dies of soul disintegration ruin for paying off the Pope to give his blessing to Pooping Biden’s sham schlock presidency. Only for his fake news holiness to later downplay Biden’s pant soiling incident prior to meeting him by poo pooing on reporters at Brietbart who remarked about the Commander In Chief losing all control off his bowel moments knowing he was bound to drop a number 2 like a confetti mess storm down on Broadway, because he’s full of enough shit already. Later, his Holiness tweets, “Cut out the crap, President Biden didn’t poop his pants before meeting me. Doesn’t President Biden have enough face nappies to wipe up with at his disposal without having to make an elaborate pant change in the 1st place? Plus, good old Joe isn’t Catholic in name only. Modern day Catholics are cool with abortion, hell hole damned, open borders encouraged, roughhouse sex and demonizing ICE agents rounding up divine sparks of rapist light because Homeland Security is so weapons of mass destruction pass already, America.”
So after Luke’s weathered yet recharged soul becomes released by the lightsaber sword, disappears among the cosmos in a galaxy far, far away, Do It All Dad’s son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo says, “Daddy, I don’t want to die”, like a pubescent Steppenwolf whose been exposed to one too many Ingmar Bergman films already. Do It All Dad says, “Samuel, your nickname is Chosen Curls Was Bound to Woo, not Chosen Curls Was Bound To Fret and pull out his hair out from the bleak prospect of soul destroyer death for anyone responsible for hiring pool time entertainment at the Podesta’s house during upcoming donation season. Look kiddo, the best way to cope with the finality of death or a lifetime of suffering, regret or resentment stemming from alleged loving loyal ones in your life perpetually shitting on your dreams of attaining career fulfillment or financial gain from your imaginative produced artist works in this lifetime God forbid, is through feasting off laugh energy healing, which can help soothe over any fucked over feeling. Trust me, I know from personal experience. That’s why for my final 46th comedy record as a final killer addition to my comedy box set Totality of Me, we’re going to call it Do It All Dad Does Death, which gives me an excuse to bomb with fake news killer punchlines on occasion and cop-out over the mental exerted toil to get the record in fighting shape like Luke does against Kylo Ren. Who cares if any one of my breakup lines with life are laugh out loud funny or not, when breathing ends? Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo laughs and says, ” When Breathing Ends, is funny daddy. More jokes for you, is more jokes for me to put on your comedy records. Do It All Dad laughs, beaming and says, “Never forget Samuel, a joke a day, keeps insanity at bay, chosen one. For example, calling Dr. Fauci America’s doctor is like calling America’s Front Line Doctor’s China’s team, Challah. Thank you very much.”
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Mr. Groper says, “I drove through the border a decade ago because Hunter needed a designated driver for his 40th birthday bash. After Jill said blow, Hunter snorted the cake. I had Corn Pop rub my leg hair for good luck, because you don’t want to get caught by the Mexican police smuggling drugs across the border in a polo while sporting your white privilege on your sleeve. Or else the Mexican cartel controlled police will jam your white privilege up your Colo faster than Hunter can clean out the drinking bar on the Amtrak Acela on enough crank to make Charlie Sheen come off as the slacker punk in comparison, man.”
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