Ya know how if you drink too much, the bar “cuts you off.” I witnessed a bum get cut off. By a CVS.
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Some of the guys at the bachelor party asked me when I’m going to get married. They don’t know me very well.
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Just to be forewarned, if I go to your wedding or bachelor party or wedding shower or whatever the fuck and spend any money on your shit, gifts, airfare, accommodations, dry cleaning bill whatever, and you ever get a divorce, I’m going to fucking invoice you.
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Someone told me this: “Sometimes your writing is really funny, but sometimes it’s really angry and aggressive.” Yep, take it or leave it, motherfucker.
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If your generic, boring douche bag husband ever decides he would like to playfully give me a hard time about anything, you will be a widow. Ok, that’s a hyperbole. But there is truth to be derived from hyperbole. I promise π
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“Donβt ever get the idea I am a poet; you can see me at the racetrack any day half drunk.” – Charles Bukowski

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Look, I told you I was a writer, I never told you I wrote things you would like, respect, or understand.
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What’s the difference between a stripper and a hooker? How much you’re willing to spend.
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