Matches

I felt witty this morning.

Art of the ass whoopin’

It’s the Belles against the Boy, and somebody’s going down.

But then I don’t have to be anywhere until Saturday.

And by this I mean I won the dispute with that cat about whether it was her bed or my coat.

You can tell because there are four pairs of “out” shoes in the floor.

Shaddup. It’s painting, isn’t it?

I’m going as me with all my give a damn busted.