My mom is 100% sure that we live in the End Times, and lately, I have been inclined to agree.
Call me Barf Hag. For I am but a hag… and this? Is my bag.
Please watch the umbrella:
Will you be watching Melania on Friday night at the ungodly hour of 10 pm ET? I will not, for I will be sleeping after…
Big wheels keep on turning. Proud Mary keep on burning. And we’re rolling. Rolling. Rolling down the river.
Just skip down to the Beto/bunny video, tbh.
Well, I did it. I filled the whole bag.
Can you imagine feeling good today?
Everything about this sucks.
I drank five cans of Diet Dr. Pepper today and I don’t feel great! How was your day?
Let’s dive into some grim news.
Can’t talk! Singing Hoku’s “Perfect Day” to a cobweb-covered stool in the corner!
As my grandfather says, “I feel like I have aged 7 days in the past week.”
I’m still listening to the Trump press conference. I am TRULY going to barf.
You see this? This is my barf bag. It was my grandmother’s barf bag, and her grandmother’s before that. One day I shall…
We made it. Did we make it? Oh shit. I don’t think we did.
I wish the president would shut his pie hole. Every day!
Anyone else feel like today was a zillion hours long? Or is that just the news cycle?
Barf? In my bag? It’s more common than you think…