sadish hollywood waitrish

As if giving the old cobbler a tug behind the sheep pen could get any worse, some tubsy jogger found it super important to huff on by waving his lips and meatpaws like we were ol' buddies. Piss on it, Chap. In the world of turbo tugs, I'm not only the mayor, but the batman. The cobbler threw me a wad of singles and a rustily wrought shoe part, kicked my knees deftly, and hurdled off, smoking. Jobs are so royally ill. But I really really need a shinier dance pole. Besides, the young one is dangerously low on nappies. I'll kill that smug jogging chump. Life blows.