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Dear Santa, For Christmas I want a fat bank account and a thin body. Please don't fuck it up like you did last year and the year before that.

For all of the taxes they take out of my paycheck, the least they could do is send me a picture of the lazy bastards I'm supporting so I can put them on my desk.

I started a new daily workout routine. Everyday I do diddly-squats.

I'm glad he left before I woke up, I don't want to remember anything about last night.

The fine line between a smile and my foot in your ass is thiscup of coffee.

This Christmas I've decided to put a Mistletoe in my back pocket so that all the people I don't like can kiss my ass.

What If I'm Sexy And I Don't Know It?