You know what? I reckon I’m depressed.
For the love of God, don't say reckon. You sound like a shittily dubbed John Wayne.
Better than resembling John Wayne Gacy like you do.
There's no need to be jealous simply because I have a much better chance of getting my ass onto Netflix way before you.
I don't follow.
I'm saying that to make it onto Netflix, you have to be a washed-up comedian or a successful serial killer.
Washed up implies that you were once funny. I've never laughed at one of your jokes. Is this your way of telling me I should be fearing for my life right about now?
Nah, don't worry pal. Somebody has to fake a laugh at your jokes so you don't snap & start writing attention-whoring statuses on Facebook with vague dangling participles & menacing ellipses.
I'm just so over trying...
Exactly like that. Who gives a shit that you’re depressed when everyone’s depressed?
No dude, everyone's seasonally depressed.
I think that's only for the wintertime.
Why? Is it too gauche in the summer?
Was Hot Girl Summer just ladies' way of saying their brains were producing serotonin again?
Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Introverted, greasy-faced, village idiot mansplains happiness & fundamentally misunderstands female anatomy! More to follow at 8 PM.
Do you think my hot takes would actually get that coveted prime-time billing?
What Big Podcast doesn't want you to know is that their platform's production of bullshit vastly outstrips the methane impact of the cattle industry.
This message was proudly brought to you by Arby's Four for Four, I'm Lovin' It.
Did you say that so you could get triple sued?
It's viral marketing, pal. I got a C in my Intro to Business class, so why don't you let me handle the branding? Meanwhile, try to do what you can to suppress those latent Bundy tendencies of yours.
We talking Ted or Al?
I'm talking Al. We're having a conversation, you absolute degen. Get those hands out of your pants for like five seconds.
Yeah well, it’s my dang world. You’re just living in it.
You matter fuck all, pal. I'm gonna ash this, by the way.
Oy. I was due a drag.
There wasn't shit left but filter, arsenic, & rat poison, you fiending jagaloon.
Well, nicotine builds strong bones, don’t it?
If that were the case, you wouldn’t look like your mother was a particularly butch ghost & your father's lugubrious jowls underwent an unsuccessful circumcision.
Tad early in the day for wanton antisemitism, isn’t it?
It's not antisemitic. It's cosmetic when three-quarters of American men have been partially Lorena Bobbitt'ed at birth.
I’m really not well-versed enough in the parameters of racism to argue its conceptual semantics with you.
You've seen Django Unchained at least 16 times. Has nothing seeped through?
Uhhhhh that the KKK was probably pretty bad at decoupage on account of their eye-holes & whatnot.
Remind me to show you a Spike Lee movie one day, bud.
We've successfully smoked two-thirds of a cig between four asthmatic lungs. Let's get off this dang trail & get up to no good before our headhighs wear off.
What shall we do, mi amigo de moi?
You can barely speak English. Let’s try & stick to one language you can seamlessly butcher.
Your command of the language is breathtaking. Shakespeare trembles in his pauper’s grave.
Shakespeare didn’t die a pauper. That was Mozart.
Mozart died of syphilis.
So he did die a pauper.
Syphilis doesn’t make you a pauper. It rots your brain, not your bank account.
Can’t compose for shit when you have brain worms, can you?
I don’t know why we’re arguing about classical music. The closest you’ve come to listening to any is Mean Girls’ rendition of “Jingle Bells Rock.”
That is absolutely prime Lindsay Lohan. I’ll be damned if you ruin my top-tier spank bank material.
The Internet is truly wasted upon you.
Sorry, I believe porn is dehumanizing, bud.
It’s called feminism. I’m riding the wave.
You wear T-shirts in the pool.
Wallowing in the wave still counts.
You ain’t ridin' shit.
Thanks for dehumanizing the spirit of Christmas for me with all this Lohan talk.
Typical Grinch. Doesn’t get the last drag of his beloved American Spirit & the grumpiness erupts.
First of all, that was my American Spirit so by the unspoken laws of this land, I was owed the final drag.
Penultimate isn't too bad. You should be content. There are children starving somewhere.
It is when there’s only two of us.
Fuck off with your penny-a-day deflection.
Let’s hit the food trucks. I need a gosh dang taco.
The ravenous glory hole of the bourgeois gapes its ugly maw once more, eh?
You skimmed a Vice article on Marx one time & now you’re the standard-bearer for the proletariat?
We will seize whichever means of production that we goddamn well please.
Shit. You’d have to make your own guac.
Frick. You’re right.
Good thing Supply Side Jesus invented credit cards for us to cocoon ourselves in debt.
Capitalist Cocoon, new band name. I call dibs.
You’ve got absolutely zero sense of rhythm, so I won’t worry about you getting famous.
I doubt your reptilian brainstem has equipped you with the social graces to pull off empathy anyway.
Who needs empathy when you’re supplying boundless apathy? Also, you gotta stop calling me a lizard person. I blinked sideways once & it's all you ever talk about.
It doesn't matter that you're cold-blooded brother. I will always support you.
"Ebony & Ivory" really was ahead of its time.
We’re both dangerously pale.
It's the thought that counts.