THIS WEEK: I Read a Supermodel’s Diabolical Manifesto

Oh, f**k. I pushed for four hours. It was a violent transition into a new reality of screaming baby on my aching tit. And then did you partake in the miracle of life? It means it must get uncomfortably sexual. It's not from Gerald Reed stuff. Making many men suffer for the crimes of one, I honestly didn't care. All these men suffered as I sucked their tits. Divorced single mom? What about instead a woman who needs nothing from men? Didn't you just say that you needed a bunch of guys? She needs the attention. Mid-thrust, when I felt the sting of a slap with the hiss of his words, I didn't ask for your feedback, b**ch. Three, two, and choke. But how did you spring it out with that velocity? Swimming. Ready? This is where you're supposed to stop us. Oh, s**t. Tape! It's in. I hear that, uh, insert whoever hears a d***. The answer is yes. I'm going to go jump off a bridge. There's my idea, man. Sometimes there are things that very much should not make the cut and should never see the light of day. So we show it to you anyway. It's time for a Scrapyard Show. Seven plus one disapproved fast food mascots. That's just a rapist with Tom Arnold's face. We're going to see you next time and then you will understand why we love working here. I'm getting too old for this ----.