Hey Dad, we saw this thing on TV you point at your dogs and cats to keep them off the counters and out of the trash. We should get one of those for Thomas.
Beep, beep, beep, beep...(Thomas walking backwards)...I'm a trash truck....beep, beep, beep.
I hope no one else gets on this elevator or they are going to smell the fart I just made.
No one told me that camp was going to be outside the whole time...what I am supposed to do about all of the bugs? Just stand there and scream until someone helps me!!?
Thomas, you know you put your fingers in your mouth and you've been digging in the trash can, so basically you're eating trash, which means you're a trash baby.
Mr. Barry said he was a Jonas Brother, but they didn't want him in the band because he can only play the ukulele. And by the way, I want you to make me a CD of Justin Bieber songs right now.
That lady right there needs to pull her pants out of her crack, you can totally tell where her butt crack is at.
You know what, I am pretty much over needing to ride the carousel at the mall, but you can still take me to build a bear.
Who wants to touch my poopy bottom? Who wants to touch it?
Oh my God, Thomas' room totally smells like old tacos.
Pic O' the Day
Omaha-March-Spring Break-Zoo-Snowstorm-Iowa State Wrestlers kept us up all night...
No comments:
Post a Comment