The Gospel of Jenn

It’s not fat, it’s an extra layer of awesome.

The term ‘Fish Taco’ shall always be funny, no matter the context. Like dick and fart jokes, it never gets old.

I will always want extra cheese on my pasta, Mr. Waiter at Carrabba’s. Thank you.

I will never not accept a hug. You should prepare yourself to accept them from me, as well. I’m a kamikaze hugger.

If you mess with me one too many times and are told, “Dude, today is not the day,” then, dude. TODAY IS NOT THE DAY.

Leave my mother out of it. No, seriously. I will cut a bitch.

I randomly burst out in song. My preferred method of torture is Motown or cheesy 60’s pop tunes. I will not rest until I have infected someone with an earworm, and when I have? My work here is done.

The Dallas Cowboys, New Jersey Devils, New York Mets, Atlanta Braves, and Michigan Wolverines all suck, no matter what their records are.

No, I did not watch American Idol, Survivor, or Dancing With the Stars last night. Please stop talking about it/them.

My dog does not like your kid. Consider the growly face and him sulking away your first warning. I take no responsibility if they get all up in his business a second time.

No, I do not own too many purses, and I’m fairly certain that concept does not even exist.

I cannot get you Vicodin. I can, however, procure a nice doctor’s note.

You will never, not ever, eat a chocolate chip cookie as good as the ones that come from my oven. Consider your search over. Eureka, even.

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