NinjaPenguins

I’ll get on board with them. If they’re on the Hindenburg or Titanic.

I’d almost think Poppy and Zende were going to get together if he wasn’t so hung up on Luna. Their obsession with Luna not telling the truth is bizarre. Get a grip, you assholes. Speaking of assholes, Thomas keeps love bombing Hope and getting sweet fuck all in return. Buy a clue, buddy. Also, wtf with Ridge’s murderous children?

Ridge: Bringing a lawyer with me will make Steffy look guilty. It’s much better to barge in alone and start flinging commands and decrees around like an imperious ogre. Finn, if you got your smile from Sheila, Steffy would have run screaming the other way the first time you met. Steffy is just surrounded by heroes, what with Liam fluffing her off for pizza and Finn fleeing the beach house when he heard sirens. Top notch fellows, right there. I hope Li excoriates her idiot son with the same zest she typically unloads on Poppy with. That birth mom shit is going to go over real well. I’ve learned many valuable lessons from B&B, especially this week. DNA takes precedence over silly little things like putting a bullet in your chest and then deliberately shooting your wife. Losing your shit and throwing away your marriage over an egg donor who ignored you until you married into the family she’s obsessed with is totally a thing that makes sense. Lessons like that. Very enlightening.

I… I just can’t. I’m sorry. I loathe Summer and pretty much everything she does annoys me, but her parenting Harrison bothers me not at all. I can’t even explain it. We never see Harrison, so wolves could be raising him for all I care. I’m still hoping he belongs to oily Theo.

Nothing beats writing a Dear Buttbiscuit column that magically disappears into the ether. If only Josh Griffith’s scripts would wink out of existence as mysteriously. I guarantee that I put more in effort, and that’s not bragging. It’s a comment on how dumb and lazy JG’s writing is. Nick’s post-wipe Charmin squares have more coherence. I will say, though, that Devon’s icy contempt for Billy is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Why dafuq should Devon cc the new, zero-experience guy on all his executive decisions? Maybe he should pass along all high level corporate directives to the mailroom for approval too. Imagine the sheer relief of CW employees when they realize Flat Ass won’t be blowing out his sinuses with a Neti pot in the break room for a few days. Then our amazing Buttbiscuit, having secured Adam’s grudging approval to join them, doesn’t comprehend that it’s a perfect time to pipe down. I know it’s difficult for Billy to remove his capacious nostrils from where they don’t belong, as their size makes them well nigh omnipresent. Still, shut your word dispenser. Adam also needs to chill and stop acting like OCD is so horrifying and shameful that he’ll doctor shop until he finds some asshole willing to tell him what he wants to hear. He sounded a lot like Victor, and I was just waiting for him to ask if Connor would have to go to the loony bin. Personally, I wouldn’t mind if Chelz, Adam and Buttbiscuit all rode together and had wacky adventures culminating in Billy left at a rest stop with the address to the Abbott mansion written in Sharpie on his forehead. Another lesser light of the Abbott family, Kyle, wasted Mariah’s time with his self-absorbed whining. What a tool. Oh noes, he’s so devoted to the art of humility that he’s sacrificed his own ambitions and happiness! He acknowledged being an ass, but I’m not entirely sure he comprehends what a knob he is. Mariah’s advice to take a look in the mirror for the source of the problem would be well taken by someone not already glued to a mirror as he sculpted his hair into a tsunami topiary. I must politely disagree with some of my fellow posters - do NOT free Tara. The less I have to think about Kyle’s MILF hunting back east and the dull sludge that was the Locke storylines, the better. Speaking of sludge, Victor seems worse than ever with the unvarnished arrogance and need to control his family. He could not understand why Victoria would have misgivings about letting him use Claire as bait and seemed to take it personally. Even Victoria reluctantly agreeing to his plan wasn’t good enough; that she had worries and conditions was intolerable to him. She couldn’t possibly genuinely care for Claire. No, her doubts had to stem from being pissy about the CEO position. Victor’s behavior is not heroic, show. It’s abusive malignant narcissism. And don’t tell me a mighty billionaire could not easily set up an adequate security force anywhere he wished. Are we to believe that Victoria isn’t wealthy enough to hire her own small mercenary army? Such a lame excuse for Victor to keep Victoria and Claire directly under his control.

Am I the only coldhearted asshole who laughed until I almost cried at Finn melodramatically placing his hand in the blood, slowly lifting it and then drearily declaring “My mom’s blood is on my hands… and yours, Steffy.” I know I’m absolutely hyped to hear Finn reply to every question or end every conversation with “you killed my mother.” from now until the show is canceled. Fucking knob. I hate it when they do this with Finn. Yes, Sheila gave you temporary housing for nine months. She also shot you and your wife point blank and nearly took you away from your kids. Oh, and she almost killed the woman who raised you, the woman you called your mother all your life. Don’t act brand new. All that being said, Ridge is so uncouth. Don’t be the more annoying character in scenes with Thomas, yo.

Imagine the weeks, nay! Imagine the months of Sheila repeating the same threats, justifications and monologues while Liam stands around with that dopey expression on his face. Bell could stretch this out for at least a year by padding episodes with flashbacks!

We saw one of Thomas’ therapy session, and his mother sat in on it. Other than that, we only have him, Steffy, Taylor, Ridge and now Hope stating he’s changed. That doesn’t cut any ice with me as a viewer, but I certainly don’t begrudge anyone their enjoyment of Thomas as a character. Maybe Deacon gets hurt trying to intervene and the lightbulb finally goes on.

I did wonder if Hope could hear herself talk about pathological assholes while she was putting her hands all over the evil string bean. I can’t even look at the screen when Hope and Thomas are on manhandling each other, they repulse me so much. Listening to Thomas simper and gush and basically love bomb Hope makes my skin crawl. If somehow Liam shows up and saves Steffy from Sheila, I will take a loooong ass break from this show. I don’t want to find out how much more insufferable he can be.

No, no. The show made sure to tell us today that Tucker is the narcissist. Victor is a loving gwampa ready to welcome Claire into the family until she no longer serves a purpose.

One of my frequent complaints about Bold & Beautiful is that it seems to be written by aliens who have observed humans for maybe a day and are awkwardly trying to imitate them. Or to be blunt, none of these scriptwriting motherfuckers have the slightest acquaintance with human nature. Characters do and say shit that no actual person, in any circumstance, would ever do or say. I think Josh Griffith must be writing from the same isolated cave Brad Bell is living in. People know what OCD is, okay? Maybe if you’ve been cut off from common knowledge, popular culture and any medical information, you wouldn’t. Even if you don’t know the in-depth details, most people have a basic idea of what it is and that it’s actually not as bad as being diagnosed with ebola. As Skarzero points out, Connor isn’t even onscreen! We’re not seeing any of the OCD behaviors; it’s all tell and no show. Meanwhile, Adam and Chelsea act like he’s been stricken with some rare, exotic malady that Sharon needs to explain. Then you have Victor curing his wife’s addiction by holding her prisoner in her home and paying Lauren to be her warden. Oddly enough, being essentially grounded like a naughty teenager makes Nikki want to drink more. Who knew? I sure hope we have several more weeks of watching her pace the floor and stare at where the liquor used to be kept. What the fuck is even happening with Seth and Jordan? Seth has devolved into a hot mess after appearing out of nowhere as Nikki’s sponsor. Sitting in a dive bar under a stupid wig and messing with an addict’s head does not a compelling villain make. Seth and Jordan talking about Nikki’s friendship like it can heal the sick is bizarre, even though Jordan is only doing it to manipulate. Their conversations are weird and desperate and off-putting. I wish someone would give Nick a laxative. That uptight, self-righteous prig pontificating on Adam’s dark side is to laugh. Adam pursued Sally throughout your nasty sexcapades? Reflect upon why you ever got together with her in the first place, idiot. Nick’s sulky, douchebro, moralizing, clenched jaw phase is not his best. Chloe may be right about not working for Newman, but I just don’t want to hear it from her. Is that so wrong?

Liam, shut your fucking caveman blowhole. I don’t remember Steffy asking you for a goddamned thing, including that laughable white knight routine of yours. Bill, shut your chompers too. You’re proud of Liam? Proud of a pathetic, obsessed douche who moons over his ex with a dumb expression on his face and flaps his gums non-stop about protecting her, as if that’s any more useful than a fart in a mitten? I guess Bill has extremely low standards for taking pride in his kids. Hey, Liam, you have another daughter that could be spending time with a psychopath; maybe spare a thought in that direction. I’m not too proud to beg: please, show. Please stop with the Liam/Steffy flashbacks. They were repulsive enough the first time.

I saw Stiff-Legged Power Butt Strut open for the Kinks in Copenhagen. Great show. Perhaps it was her marriage to fake ass Chancellor son, the Aussie vampire and original bleached skeever, Cane.

At first, I was kind of bitter getting stuck with another day of work and missing my soaps. I can’t do the job out of a cafe or jazz lounge, and I am sure as hell not in the mood to watch after a day among the local buttbiscuits (nostril sizes vary). I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that I was able to see Chelz jump on that bleached numbskull on cliffhanger Friday. I can’t tell you because I’m not. WTF, show? Victor’s attitude sucks just like his security sucks. Why are we still pretending the Newmans employee a badass team of bodyguards when their security gets pantsed every single time? Stop it already. When I think high stakes corporate intrigue, I definitely imagine an internal fight over the company name. My bitterness is somewhat eased. Now if only I wasn’t working with a Diet Phyllis, everything would be rainbows and lollipops.

Dear Buttbiscuit; I have found an amusing new hobby - pissing off my temporary co-CEO. Like today, he comes rolling up on me in that smug, peacocking stride of his, full of ideas about rebranding the company by slapping his last name on it. He says it’s to honor his mom, but that uncooked chicken thigh is all about pumping his own tires. When he was blathering on about changing the name, I played dumb, mostly by imitating his mannerisms, rhetorical style and reasoning skills. I pretended to consider it and fluffed him off until he left, smiling but seething. He’s just so hilarious when he doesn’t get his way. First, you can see his rear end pucker up like he just wiped himself with a lemony fresh Clorox disinfectant cloth. His nostrils flare, changing the barometric pressure as far away as Azerbaijan. Finally, he stomps off to his executive washroom to sulk and spend quality time with his mail order, military grade tactical bidet. Am I the asshole for pushing his buttons? Buttbiscuit says: No. i believe your proper name would be Asshole Junior, as you clearly inherited your bio-dad’s wretched personality. How do you like them apples, you clueless cue ball? What would Neil Winters do? Call you an asshole. P.S., Only a joyless fool would mock getting his skids spritzed by a strategically calibrated jet of water. Dear Buttbiscuit; I was recently approached by a mysterious woman as I was drowning my sorrows at a dive bar. At first, the busted ass wig and intense grin made me fear I was about to be attacked by the infamous Flapjack Monster of Genoa City. I was in no condition to flee, but I didn’t have to. Now that I’m presently less impaired, the encounter leaves me unsettled. She claimed to have been in AA yet plied me with drinks. She indicated we had a mutual acquaintance and somehow recounted in exacting detail the rise and fall of our relationship, only she claimed it happened to her as well. That seems unlikely. The wigged woman then encouraged me to reconnect with our supposed mutual friend with an unsavory enthusiasm. Why do I feel compelled to hitch a ride to crazy town with this person? Am I the asshole? Buttbiscuit says: Nah, bro. You ever feel like some hack is authoring your life and steering you into idiotic, senseless decisions no person with two brain cells to rub together would ever make? It’s like that. Everyone gets their turn eating shit in a futile effort to make the Newman family rootable. They are ALWAYS the asshole. Dear Buttbiscuit; I’ve discovered a new way to relieve the stress of parenting and I’m hoping it doesn’t make me the asshole. I would like to mention up front that my boyfriend didn’t ask me to share this, but if it can help one person… Well, let me tell you, nothing helps a woman unwind like riding an unbreaded mozzarella stick to Climax City. When your boyfriend is pure sex on a (swizzle) stick, a relaxing lovemaking session just takes a firm, juicy slap to his flat buttocks to get started. I can’t praise his technique enough; it’s so soothing that I almost fall asleep before his 112 seconds of effort pay off. That concave, bleached physique, the manly way he calls out his own name… it all just really clarifies things, you know? If only they could bottle his gentle yet wildly erotic presence for other women to enjoy. Buttbiscuit says: Many thanks for this unsolicited letter. You are most definitely not an asshole, though you could probably tack on 15 or 20 seconds to your boyfriend’s efforts. Just saying.

You know, something might be amiss with your show when a young man is discussing popping a cherry with his brother and sister who happen to be fucking each other. That’s messed up. Hey, did everyone get the memo that Luna was pure and amazing and honest and fun? Now you know.

Is that what that was? Gross. I was thinking maybe this storyline was salvageable because Zende felt like a giant piece of shit over what happened, but putting a hair tie in a box of keepsakes is hella weird. Also, Eric unknowingly putting all those double entendres out there while asking Zende to mentor Luna was neither cute or funny. I bet Bell pulled something laughing at his own wit, though. I don’t dislike Luna, but the show needs to seriously ease up on the Luna is Love, Luna is Light browbeating. Do we need to hear that she’s the greatest intern who ever graced the halls of FC? No. How about showing her doing amazing workplace things? Oh thank the stars above Liam is back to roll up on RJ and imply his girlfriend’s mom is a gold digging tramp. Pure class. RJ should be able to put both feet in his waffle ass, one for each sister Liam has shit on.

Dear Buttbiscuit; You listen to me, alright? I don’t give a damn what you think, but the world must hear this. I have my wife’s drinking under control, k? I just let Jagabbott deliver lunch and carry her purse because it is cheaper than paying a butler. I am a savvy businessman, yougotthat? Speaking of business, my two idiot sons proposed folding that damn Spectra woman’s design company into my empire. I will never work professionally with that redheaded whore of Babylon! I let my youngest son believe there was a chance I’d say yes, as cruelty is the whetstone upon which the most lethal daggers are sharpened, k? It was either Attila the Hun or Abe Lincoln who told me that. Grow up in a damn orphanage, craft your own bootstraps from your own bitter tears and pull your worthless ass up by them! That damn Spectra woman does not know anything about hard work, k? You are a damn fool, so you probably don’t realize that the Newman family is much like the Greek pantheon. I am Zeus, if that pompous bag of wind grew up alone and my sweet baby sweetheart is Hera with the thirst of Dionysus! My oldest boy is Achilles if his weak spot was between his ears, and my daughter is obviously Athena. The little farm boy is, I don’t know, Hades. I feel like there might be someone I’m forgetting… maybe there was a flying horsey - a pegasus? Not important! Youhaveanicedaynow. Signed; Piece of Smite Dear Smite; Wow. I’m honestly not sure what to do with all that. I feel like a chef who has been handed a blowfish and some beets and told to make chicken parm out of them. Dude… I think you’ve got a couple of pantheons mixed up, sort of? You do have one son who could pass for a Greek god, but the rest of you are more akin to some inbred royal lineage who mercifully will one day fuck themselves and each other out of existence. I guess you could consider yourselves a Genoa City pantheon, but who would give a fuck about emotionally broken dairy deities? I personally don’t enjoy having members of my family sacrificed to keep you jerks upright and breathing. You’re more like Geus, because you’re mean as fuck and shit on everything. Your wife and daughter are both Medusa, able to petrify anyone by gazing down their noses at them. Your big baby Fartacus is like a bizarro world Hercules who fills the Augean stables instead of mucking them out. Pro-tip: Locking your princess in a tower surrounded by invisible yet impenetrable security will never permanently slay the vodka dragon.

Mints, mints, mints. Bell thinks we’re stupid bints. So dumb we need repeated hints. Mints, mints, mints The Bold & The Beautiful, now sponsored by Altoids, Certs and Tic Tacs.

To me, Luna was clearly under the influence of something. Knowing this show, we may never discover what. I marvel that Bell couldn’t simply write a story where Luna dates RJ but also maybe develops an attraction to Zende. Triangles that never end are his thing, after all. RJ and Zende being design rivals could provide conflict. Exciting? No, but at least it’s not gross.

She was clearly stoned. He knows Luna is committed to RJ. Like someone else said, Zende could have paused a moment to realize “hey, this shit ain’t right.” It’s just awful writing that accomplishes nothing but offending a broad spectrum of people due to everything from unimaginative writing to an infuriating refusal to understand consent.

What? You don’t feel inspired by the prestige television beamed into our living rooms for an hour every afternoon?

Why does Bell keep going back to this rancid well over and over again? What the actual fuck is wrong with him? This Luna/RJ/Zende garbage being written as a cliche, typical triangle would be infinitely better than another round of rapey misunderstanding. Surely he’s gotten feedback that this is offensive, yet he keeps on trucking down the “what consent?” highway. As Kerley points out, how the fuck does Luna not realize she’s not popping mints? Anyone who’s ever had an accidental taste of a prescription pill knows how gross it is. Not to mention the lack of refreshing mint hitting your taste buds. And we’re to believe Zende just won’t stop and consider how incongruous it is that Luna is sleeping in his bed? She’s also noticeably under the influence of something. Stop it, show. Just stop it.

Dear Buttbiscuit; Love is a battlefield, and I’m the walking wounded. I can’t understand how any of this happened. All I did was return to my old stomping grounds, take up with my old flame and let a red mantis play with my dick. Now the two ladies are fighting to get into my mom jeans and I feel victimized. I bet if I could get them to make out in one of my music videos, that would solve everything. I don’t deserve this, right? I can’t tell the mantis off because she’s the mother of my child. If she wants to powder my balls and call them munchkins, she has a lifetime free pass to do it and I have to let her. Why can’t the other gal see that’s how co-parenting works? I couldn’t get this email finished by the Am I the Asshole? deadline, but I’m not right? I’m the good guy. Signed; Two Girls, One Pup Dear Pup; Um. I can see you are not aware of all internet traditions. That’s understandable, considering you haven’t been cool since people used those AOL discs for coasters and stabilizing table legs. Bro, Am I the Asshole is sort of pass/fail; you write in to Dear Buttbiscuit and you’re getting the concierge advice experience. I’ll throw in a freebie this one time - you are the asshole. You’re also an idiot. When it comes to the homicidal maniac you call the red mantis, fucking around means your old flame finds out, usually via the fender of a nondescript sedan off the Enterprise lot. Here’s a word you may find useful: NO. No, velociraptor, I do not want you in this apartment. I don’t want you for romance, I don’t want you in my pants, no you can’t make my wiener dance. I mean, if you have the courage to sing elevator music in front of tens of people, you can both dare to back off the Just for Men and say no thank you to the scarlet snake charmer. How dare you blame your old flame when your entire game is shame. I’ll tell you this, if I find out my lady is sugaring her babydaddy’s balls without inviting me to observe, I’m going to sulk. Dear Buttbiscuit; What has been seen cannot be unseen. Do not stare into the abyss lest the abyss gaze back into you. Now that we have the melodramatics out of the way, I need help processing the images seared into my retinas after I accidentally looked into the gaping maw of oblivion. I could not turn away. There were mummified hobgoblins glistening inside gelatinous cages, like insects trapped in amber. A lost civilization of pale, single-nostriled people were forced to toil in gold mines by a sentient Flonase cap drunk on power and wealth. There were more prosaic items strewn about too: a kleenex in a bottle, perhaps tossed by a desperate, wayward traveler into the River Sniffs, and a small statue of William Abbott built out of discarded nose hair clippers. Do you ever blow your fucking nose? Jesus Christ, man. Signed; Long Haul Tucker Dear Tucker; Who told you to sit next to me at the bar? I didn’t invite you. You think you’re such hot ghost pepper shit with your snide comments and suave turtlenecks, playing little mind games and pushing buttons as you drift from restaurant to restaurant. You have no power over me. I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that I won’t be- shit. Fuck you, Tucker McCall. Dear Buttbiscuit; I already know the only real solution to my dilemma, but I need to hear it from someone else. I just need that validation, you know? My mother is a beehive buzzing with poisonous personality disorders, dipped in a vat of liquid meth and rolled in cocaine. There’s a never ending steel cage death match between feral otters inside her head and I just cannot anymore. Yet… I still feel that futile yearning to try. She’s my mother, after all. She’s also an obsessive, malignant narcissist and pathological liar who has never given more than she has taken. She is in hot pursuit of my father, who was rekindling an old flame with a nice, stable woman who my mother once tried to murder. That is not hyperbole. She hates my dad’s ex and is repeatedly rubbing up on him like a horny bulldog just to piss this woman off. I call her out on it and she turns on a fire hose of manipulation to drench me in bullshit. I know she’ll never change. I know I should cut her out of my life completely. For a minute during our last fight, it struck me that I was behaving just like her. How can I stay strong? Got any backbone I can borrow? Signed; My Dick Roams-a-lotti Dear Dick; Are you going to use the backbone to cowboy up and dump your girlfriend, or are you just going to carry on your repulsive affair? You are acting like your mother, but you know where I stand on that matter no matter how many times you ask. Your father isn’t covering himself in glory either, but I’ve been chased by the same long knockered demon so I’ll cut him a modicum of slack. Kids of Genoa City, Cinnamon Longknockers is NOT an urban legend. If you ever find a lemon in a tube sock on your front step, place a circle of salt around it and call a priest to exorcise the succubust. As for you, buddy, of course you need to eject your mother from your life, preferably without a parachute. I might also shun your asshole sister for good measure, as she will relentlessly badger you into making nice with your mom. Plus, she sucks. Have a great day!

Dear Buttbiscuit is proud to present a new, recurring feature. Welcome to Am I the Asshole? Dear Buttbiscuit; You listen to me now. That damned Jagabbott is my wife’s AA sponsor against my wishes, k? My baby sweet baby cannot possibly lean on anyone but me. Jagabbott knows about addiction, my baby says. Big deal, k? I was once addicted to a taboo substance, culminating in the Bloodbath of Prague in 1452. I cajoled, wheedled, hemmed, hawed, demanded and even emitted a foul, enthralling scent from a vampiric gland in my hindquarters to override her will. She would not be swayed! I made certain Jagabbott understood that he would be held accountable for the slightest damage to my baby. I am considering replacing Jagabbott with another doppelgänger, this time a Belgian smuggler of croissants currently awaiting trial in Kathmandu. Such a plan worked very well the first time, yougotthat? Am I the asshole? Buttbiscuit says: Yes. You are the Platonic ideal of an asshole. Did you know? 90% of doctors see an image resembling your face during colonoscopies. Dear Buttbiscuit; I am a wealthy man with more money than I can spend in a lifetime. Available to the very rich are goods and services I could not have imagined when I was poor. Recently, I was able to procure a kangaroo expertly trained to dick punch a victim of my choosing. I plan to unleash him on the self-satisfied shitmuffin cheating on my sister. I know I should spend my money on something more worthwhile, like philanthropy or getting the stick removed from my buttocks, but this guy just ain’t getting what a dirty dog he is. I think a be-pouched animal’s fists of fury will provide clarity. Am I the asshole? Buttbiscuit says: No. Do you have contact information for that supplier of animal enforcers? I’ve been looking for a platypus to beat the ass off my smirking nephew. Thanks in advance! Dear Buttbiscuit; OMG! My parents are so in love! We’re a family again! Yay! They totally smashed, you know, and they didn’t even care that I overheard them whispering about it. They have to be super secret about it cuz Dad started up with some chick who had to go to Cali before he dumped her. I’m thinking maybe I’ll buy a burner phone and send a break up text to the lady so we can get this show on the road. Am I, like, the asshole? I love that I can swear here! Buttbiscuit says: Here’s a life lesson, kid. You’re at a critical point in your development and it could go either way. You could grow up to be a decent, reasonable human being or you can evolve into a Summeresque asshole, basically the Magikarp of Genoa City. Here’s a free math lesson too. Two people who will cheat with each other = two people who will cheat on each other. Ask literally anyone here. Dear Buttbiscuit; I’ve once again made a big mistake by getting tangled up with my ex-wife, this time as her AA sponsor. Her husband, an infantilizing deviled egg fart, has always hated me and my family and done terrible, criminal things to many of us. Naturally, he hates the idea but magnanimously doled out his permission along with various mumbled threats. I’ve neglected my job and my siblings to shovel coal into the engine of this trainwreck. Today, Satan’s shingles and I helped the lady out of a dive bar; well, he helped her out while I carried her purse. The symbolism is not lost on me. Am I the asshole? Buttbiscuit says: No, but you are the world’s prize sucker. I actually think you could use a little more asshole in your game. Dear Buttbiscuit; I’ve changed… into my edible undies. That’s not a come on, loser, because I, I have found a new love who also dabbles in shoe polish coiffure. Why, even a lowlife harpy bitch could see my glow. My glow. My new guy’s mouth says “let’s take a break” but his wandering hands say “is this a tit or a bicycle horn?” I mean, who suggests a break and then keeps opening the door for you? If a man opens a door, a door for you, that’s foreplay. Foreplay. Sure, sure he’s courting the woman who ruined the undercarriage of my rental car, but that’s just a phase. A phase. I bought a drone off eBay recently to spy on Diane, so I hope I don’t have to repurpose it to deploy insecticide. BUG SPRAY! Caw caw! Am I the asshole? Buttbiscuit says: Holy shit yes. BRB. I feel a powerful urge to bleach my balls. Dear Buttbiscuit; Hey, buddy. Am I the asshole? Or is it you? I think it’s you. This is Tucker McCall. Buttbiscuit says: Whatever.