It does not matter how many times you forward an email or click 'like,' because that kid in that picture in that hospital with tubes coming out of its nose is probably photo-shopped and isn't even dying of anything, and if it was dying of something, emails and likes probably wouldn't cure it. But thank you for passing it on, thus alerting me to the fact that I don't ever want you to be near me, you phenomenal moron.
Dogs don't give a shit when it's their birthday.
|High as fuck.|
You know that music you like? The stuff that literally no one else you know has ever even heard of? And mostly it's some bitch whining and then doing something weird like rapping, but backwards and in Spanish and while crying? And you have to go to some dank, lonely back corner of an independent music store to find it? And the only three people who ever go back there are you, some emo twerp and the dude who vaccuums the store once a month but instead of vaccuuming just jerks off onto Miley Cyrus CDs? And you don't even really like it, but you think it makes you cool because you like something that no one else likes? You can go ahead and never send me links to Youtube videos of that shit ever again.
Wearing deodorant does not hurt.
Ed Hardy won't ever be cool again.
|Thanks a lot, cockface.|
Telling me about how awesome the Beatles were won't change my mind. I will not suddenly go "Holy shit! You're right! I didn't see it before, but now that you've said 'the Beatles were awesome' at least seventeen times, I suddenly get it! How could I have not realized this before??? Now I think they were super duper!"
Same goes for Seinfeld. Seriously -- me not liking the things you like doesn't make the things you like die.
If this guy is ever a guest star on any crime drama, then he's the guy who did it:
And if this guy's ever the star of a show (See: Criminal Minds, Dead Like Me, Chicago Hope) don't fucking bother getting attached:
|Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. I'm on your TV show. Prepare for me to be a bitch and leave.|
Tom Cruise is three and a half feet tall.
Psychics do not exist.
Seals probably don't even feel it when you club them.