Holy sweet balls of flaming cheese, I haven't felt this dizzy since the 10th Grade nitrous whippit experiments in my friend Evan's garage. It's like I'm being simultaneously punched and caressed by a boxer with a soft spongey feather in one hand and a brick in the other.

My brain can't take this sort of abuse. It's already mad at me over Saturday's mohito-thon. Stupid mohitos.

This pic violates the rubrics of muon/lepton hybridity. It shatters the soul and rewrites history by inserting douchebags at key historical moments. The chapter on the assassination of Arch Douche Ferdinand is just wrong.

She is perfection. She is purity. She turns turds into gold. Well, except for the big turd she's cuddling with.

And on that note, I'm having another mohito. The more braincells I drown in alcohol, the less will be left to contemplate this wrongness.