Okay, so, around November 8th, I was pretty sure this year could go fuck a goat.
After this happened, I found myself in a curious position of wishing a sexually transmitted disease on a metaphorically violated goat.
Damn. When I first looked at it, I thought, “It could be worse–I couldn’t see the fucking pole!” but every time I look at that picture, the damage gets bigger.
Sort of like this @#$%%^^&*% year!
So anyway, to cheer up my car–and me, and Mate, because dude, this thing is only 2 years old!– I have two perfectly valid salutes to this crapfest of a year:
Like John Oliver says–let’s all try harder next year.
