The world is full of “Jerrys.” Terrible, terrible Jerrys. Every one of them. There must be some sort of contract parents are forced to sign at birth, because these assholes are awful at best. Don’t believe me? Take a look at this murderer’s row of fucked out dickwads:
“Oh, hello there. Have you met my 13-year-old minor cousin-wife?”
National Treasure, Coyote Ugly and Kangaroo Jack?! You’re a god-send, Mr. Bruckheimer.
Nothing says “funny” like a sitcom about bumbling WWII Nazis. (Yes, the Nazis were called “Jerrys,” you creeps.)
This is just sad. And gross. And sad again.
How ’bout them Cowboys…fucking you in the stinkhole, Jerry Jones!
He’s not only a pompous, cowardice prick, but I’m convinced he was the first gay cartoon character. I mean, what’s with all the cross-dressing, Jerry?
“Whoa, brother, it’s gettin’ way too heavy in here. Also, did you notice my finger’s missing? Oh, and it’s gettin’ way too heavy in here.”
SWM looking for someone to listen to Hootie with while we JO to my Derek Jeter baseball card collection.
Well, there you have it. People named Jerry need to go far, far away. Perhaps they can inhabit a nice little island somewhere off the coast of Guam. Which I can then set on fire.
That’ll do it for this installment of ire. So until letter “K” pulls its ugly ass into the station, have at it, you vultures!