So im not the only one that gets pissed when i open a poptart expecting a reasonable schmear of icing and theres a solitary jizzsplotch in the middle, right?

And not even a respectable jizzsplotch, but like a “it’s 12:05, and you cant sleep so you rub one out in three minutes to get the ball rolling” jizzsplotch. A sad splotch.

And you look at the box and curse the bastard responsible for tuning the icing machine on the conveyer belt because that fucker barely cares. He doesn’t think about poptarts, he’s too busy wondering why his wife hates him.

Becky hates you because you’re a lazy inconsiderate fuck, Dave. Thats why she wont touch you, and you’re relegated to churning the batter at 12:05 just to get some sleep.

Give yer balls a tug you titfucker.