Well, At Least There Isn’t A Hashtag.

Does anyone else hope this bus drives off a cliff and crashes into an elephant graveyard where people discarded their sharpest utensils and, what do you know, it’s a live volcano and now it’s exploding hot magma riddled with dinosaur poison?

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Yea, me too.

The Motto Of My Generation.

YOLO, really? That’s all you got?

Fuck that. We did it better, kiddies.

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Rufio and the Lost Boys judge you and your acronyms.

YOLO For Realists.

Fuckin’ YOLO.

It literally makes me angry even typing it, but I saw something that absolutely needed to be shared with the world. THE WORLD. Aka, my bloggership. Aka, my mom. I’m not sure she’ll get it, but I know she’ll read it because she’s my mom and is pretty much proud of everything I do. Even that short stint as a mascot hooker. The woman loves sports, what can I say?

Anyway, prior to the picture I’m about to share, I thought the greatest YOLO reference was by the Lonely Island guys¬†(“You Oughta Look Out”), because – well, I mean it just makes sense.

 

But THIS.

yolo cemetery

This is just perfect.

It would be like a cremation place being called “BRB Cremation”.

It’s so bad, it’s good.