No, I’m not saying the lead singer of Nickelback saved my life. I’m talking a literal douche here, people.
My mind is continuously blown by the existence of life.
Think about it. It’s estimated that the chances of you being you – is 1 in 400 quadrillion. QUADRILLION. My brain doesn’t even comprehend that type of number.
Put more simply – the odds that you even exist at all are basically zero.
We beat those kinds of odds, people. Don’t tell me you’re not freaking special.
Which is why I feel like it’s some type of poetic justice that a humor writer like myself exists thanks to one awkward and arguably not really necessary feminine hygiene product – Massengill spring fresh douche.
Allow me to elaborate.
I’m the baby in my family. My sister is 10 years older and my brother is 5. My mom was mentally done having children after my brother…
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