Nothing’s cuter than these two, decapitated, former friends dangling from either side of me.

There are a bunch of rockets strapped to my ass? Well, you’re a fucking racist.

You want me to suck on what?

We’re not going to Hawaii? You’re just going to make me wear this shitty grass skirt? Bitch please.

I hope you swallow a seed and it blooms in your lungs until you slowly suffocate.

SEND HELP.

I’m closing my eyes for five seconds so that I can forget what it’s like to have this hideous hat strapped behind my ears.

I’m a shrimp. I get it. You didn’t have to be so on the nose about it, asshole.

You realize that by creating this elaborate, squirrel-sized set and tying me to it with squirrel-sized rope makes you a completely unfuckable psychopath, right?

I gained a little weight over the summer. We both know this. And people loooooove themselves a fat dog.

But you can eat shit and die if you think dressing me like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man is going to stop me from getting all up in your people food.

Could someone please alert the dickbox who strapped this painfully large pin cushion to my back that I will be biting the eff out of his face later?