The cat then returned to his mortal body. He awoke slowly and with a fading daze. He again picked up the glass of whiskey that sat beside him and again looked at the picture of them together. He smiled, raised his glass and said “Here’s to number eight.”, and once again pulled the trigger.

The snake then bit the sloth, which returned him to the infinite innocence of oblivion. (The snake then fucked his wife.)

If I found myself laid out on a blanket that was the same color and texture of my own hide, I’d be a little worried about it’s origins.

This guy looks like a mix of Joe Biden and George W. Bush.

The golden snitch.

This is not the picture I would draw if someone asked me to explain what a “top” and “bottom” were.

The celestial administrators looked at his dating record and just made the assumption.

This implies the existence of the Purple Swamp Cock.

“I wish for an elephant sized cock.”

Not aliens, bourbon barrels. Bourbon barrels outnumber people in this part of the world.

The burden of the obsequious.

Taking a break after fucking Goofy.

This looks like bad taxidermy.

Potatoes Apples Marijuana Bananas Tulips Etc…

Goofus resorts to slavery when he doesn’t want to mow the lawn. Gallant, gets rid of the lawn.

Translation: My side is losing so both sides are bad.

It this some sort of landlord fantasy?

Yep.