Apparently, me + a curling iron = Barbara Mandrell. At least according to some of my whiskey-soaked friends last night. I am totally okay with this though I was actually going more for something like this:
Britney is really going to extreme lengths to prove how much of a die-hard Van Halen fan she is!
Dear Britney, I will see your laxative and Adderall and no panties and being a bad Mom and raise you by kicking an old man in the shins and claiming there is a Nazi conspiracy to hurt Randy Quaid. - Sincerely, Randy Quaid's wife.
Hey Jessica Simpson, what team and all of its' fans hate you? Yep, that one.
Speaking of football, apparently some people can't tell the difference between Jeremy Shockey and Richard Branson. Here's a hint: I am disturbingly hot and bothered by one of these guys:
One time, the semi-known comic Brian Posehn suggested that were the two of us to transport back in time we would go to prom together. But we would get bored and bail early and go drink Mickey's in a graveyard together. Let me take this chance to publicly proclaim that Joe Butcher is the only person in the world I would want to drink Mickey's in a graveyard with:
Sorry Brian.
1 comment:
you should really just be blogging about joe butcher all the time.
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