There is a new online men's fashion magazine that I have recently discovered over @ Fashion156.com. I really admire their dedication to menswear (they seem to update their features every week). Their new offering is a Technicolor treat. Go check them out before they hatch and fly away!
Monday
Sunday
Thursday
Zale Morris is A Douche Bag
I have dealt with plenty of assholes in my life and boy, are you off your rocker, motherfucker. I had a bad feeling about you from the very beginning, but I needed a job. I thought I was just coming in for an interview and as soon as I got there, you sent me to work. No talk of pay or anything of the sort, just sew this, fetch that, carry this, pack this, stitch that. And you have the nerve to tell me to follow you from now on, and that this shit should have been put away a long time ago?
FUCK YOU!
You are nothing more that a fat, fucking, tub of lard-o-rama, weirdo, loser. You are pompous and have no right to be. Your only claim to fame is that you're working on E.R. through the union, big fucking deal. Television sucks balls anyway. Get a fucking life you schizophrenic
poodle-haired-flap-jack-face! And another thing, I traveled a million fucking miles to get to your house, I told you I wasn't feeling good, and you still insisted I drive with you to Ventura, after I had just been out and about all day in the sun, looking for fabric everywhere and Tahiti, and you wanted me to work another 6 hours, slaving away in god-knows-where for 10 measly fucking dollars an hour?
FUCK YOU!
And my name is Marc asshole, not John, stupid fucker!
So, if you see this fat, son of a bitch on the street, and he answers to Zale Morris, sock him in the teeth for me.
Thank you for shopping at Biglots and have a pleasant evening.
FUCK YOU!
You are nothing more that a fat, fucking, tub of lard-o-rama, weirdo, loser. You are pompous and have no right to be. Your only claim to fame is that you're working on E.R. through the union, big fucking deal. Television sucks balls anyway. Get a fucking life you schizophrenic
poodle-haired-flap-jack-face! And another thing, I traveled a million fucking miles to get to your house, I told you I wasn't feeling good, and you still insisted I drive with you to Ventura, after I had just been out and about all day in the sun, looking for fabric everywhere and Tahiti, and you wanted me to work another 6 hours, slaving away in god-knows-where for 10 measly fucking dollars an hour?
FUCK YOU!
And my name is Marc asshole, not John, stupid fucker!
So, if you see this fat, son of a bitch on the street, and he answers to Zale Morris, sock him in the teeth for me.
Thank you for shopping at Biglots and have a pleasant evening.
Stop Starring at me, you freaky-eyed bitch!
Tuesday
I have recently realized
Wednesday
Tuesday
New Store Opening
Monday
Saturday
Wednesday
Miss Dog America
I am sewing sewing sewing like a mad fucking dog in heat, whose only goal in life is to be miss dog america but is just too damn busy scarfing down those too-good-to-be-true, buttery-heaven, doggie biscuits, to really give a woof.
Sunday
распутники
I pray the black hand of death finds each and every one of you. I have nothing but contempt for you, truly and whole-heartedly.
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