Sh*t My Dad Says [antikvár]

Introduction "All I ask is that you pick up your shit so you don't leave your bedroom looking like it was used for a gang bang. Also, sorry that your girlfriend dumped you" When I was twenty-eight years old, I hved in Los Angeles and was in the third year of a long-distance relationship with my girlfriend, who hved in San Diego. Most Fridays I'd sit in traffic for three and a half hours as my 1999 Ford Ranger crawled 126 miles down the 1-5 to San Diego. Every once in a while my car would decide to shut off its engine. Meanwhile, its radio was busted, so I only got one station, whose playlist seemed limited to songs from the burgeoning rapper Flo Rida. There's nothing like merging onto a freeway only to have your engine stop, steering wheel lock, and a deejay scream, "And here's my man, Flo Rida, with his new hit 'Right Round'! Let's get this party started!" In short, doing the long-distance thing was wearing on me. So when I received a job offer in May 2009 from Maxim.com that would allow me to work from anywhere, I jumped at the opportunity. I could move down to San