CaptPukeFish

Oh man. I can see that. When I pictured how Scott would've said it, i laughed. But now I can only hear Paul McCartney sing it, and feel melancholic. Such a rollercoaster of emotions. My only hope now is that Paul McCartney makes a special appearance and sings this catchphrase. Which will definetly happen.

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This is not your grandparents' torture-porn.

Brought to you in part by "The Part Bringers". Arbitrarily bringing random parts of non-specific objects to strangers since 1926.

It's just like the ancients predicted, minus the part where the sun god melts my dick off.

Now with the soothing comfort of a throbbing potato sack left silently on your doorstep during a lightning storm.

Little pet peeve of mine: I like to bite the ends off of Twizzlers, and then spit the pieces at the hog-tied corpses of those that have wronged me.

The unspoken life-long malaise of unrequited love. The sensuous tranquility of genetically altered super-bees attacking an elderly doorman.

Spread wide the butt cheeks of your soul, and let the elegance burrow itself inside you.

Open your shade, it's time to get paid. I'm in the tree outside your bedroom, and this dirty money diaper isn't gonna change itself.

Now let us bow our heads in a moment of silence for those victimized by juvenile pscychological abuse. Uh uh uhh. I didn't say Simon says. Suckahhs!

Waiting sucks Eddie, but I've never know Tom Petty to back down from a free mani-pedi.

Bring me the severed head of Penelope Pitstop. The wackiness ends tonight.

Like a cayenne pepper coated suppository for your brain butthole.

low hanging fruit is the juiciest fruit.

It took years to create, and many people said I was crazy, but lets hear what they have to say now. Moisten up your flavor lagoons. Its Fingernail Pie

Freud? Fraud? Coincidence? "there are no coicidences." Jesus christ, fuck off Freud.

Put on ur sad shoes and leave ur inhibitions swingin lifelessly from a ceiling fan,cuz existence is an endless string of delusion and fear.*fart noise

Like sand through the hourglass, these are the days of the hourglass maker. Wasting his stupid life putting sand in hourglasses, like an idiot.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Paley McHorsepenis, and the pasty-faced horsey crew followed with him.

If I may, It's a play on a popular joke Jerry Seinfeld made in regards to the black box surviving a plane crash, so why not build the plane out of black box material. My hats off to Monsieur Accord, cuz I thought it was beautiful.

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with a comedy podcast, whose name escapes me at the moment.

Far-off tribal drums beating. A bonfire on the horizon. The faint echoing screams. The aroma of Grandma's apple pie. Who says you can't go home again?

Leave the wife and kids at home, because your marriage is a sham, and your kids deserve a real father.

I'm starting to think George will never finish his masterpiece, and we'll never know if they got the funk or not.