I'd be sayin' some prayers…
No, we're on God's team.
So does your head.
The only deal she can make is getting hanged or burned at the stake.
Martin Luther tried to tell them, but they wouldn't open the door.
The tender mercies of the Cabal are cruel.
Boobs say fat.
The Rotskin in the Scotskin falls mainly in the Plotskin.
We're bumfucked.
Well, at least you don't have to roll her in flour to find the wet spot.
I'm happy for you and your penis. To each his own.
Kinda looks like the Son of Sam.
I'm not anything.
He's on the shitter.