Gabby Windey

I would sooner put a whole roll of toilet paper in my pants and create a trail from my thong to the floor.

Excuse me.

Not like you needed to guess, but I just wiped my ass with this and now it's hanging to where you walk.

They bring you down, these men.

Who are the ones suffering?

The women.

And the men get to continue to cosplay as Mrs. Doubtfire and do the Dougie as a white boy at a wedding and somehow clip it and put it on Instagram.

I'm sick.

I'm nauseous.

I need a Zofran and a gas axe.

It's making my stomach bubble.

Imagine the syllabus it would take to complete the aforementioned thing of creating a video as a man at a wedding.

This is what's going on, let me tell you.

Step one, get invited to the wedding.

Already hard to overcome as a man.

Who wants to be invited?

Who would want to invite them anywhere?

Yeah, they're begging to be invited, but I don't want them there.

I'm hard to get.

Assume he is a plus one then and hope to God he doesn't have 14 beers during the cocktail hour when he starts crushing them on his head and untying his tie.