According to matchstick: “Hmm. Eat Chee-tos, get orange keyboard.”


I have a recurring fantasy of me in my mid-30’s:, fat, unshaven, dressed only in tightie-whities with Chee-tos handprints all over them, sitting in my dank bachelor pad illuminated solely by the gentle glow of my monitor. Empty pizza boxes and Pepsi cans surround me like a 5 year old’s fort. My thighs are withered from never standing, while my cavs are hyper-muscular from pushing my wheeled ergo-chair from mini-fridge to keyboard. ahhh

I know what you single ladies are thinking, “How do I get my hands on this beefcake?”

Well, the answer’s simple: take a number, baby, take a number…

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