Wish me luck on my gut rinsing adventure this evening. 

I don’t want to buy some dead guy’s pants. 

I can’t be walking around with a talking bra. People will think I’m nuts!

My butthole is pristine. 

The world is full of problems that sausage can’t solve. 

There’s a booby on the loose?

Nothing that your balls have touched should ever be on my kitchen counter again. 

I need to go feed my feces. 

Less talk. More pants.

He is not my asshole!

Those are literary nipples. They don’t count. 

How did I deserve to receive such blatant information? Outdoor sofa.