Why My Man Card Should Be Revoked

So you're probably surprised to find out I just came to the realization that I'm a bitch. Between how whipped my shit is by Mrs. T's fine ass and my sagging bitch titties, I should've seen it coming. However it took me looking at my phone and more specifically the pictures on my phone to see it for myself.

Now what should a man have on his phone? Blackmail material on his friends? Why not? An image of some jugs being released from the shackles of a bra? Sure. A picture of a shot glass depicting a monkey holding his junk. Hells yes. I'm pretty sure 90% of his pictures shouldn't be this:

This is Mrs. T's and my dog Dixie. Don't blame us for the Confederate stripper name though. We adopted her bastard ass. Even though she's like an illegitimate child to me, she can do no wrong in my eyes. Throwing up a ball of food and rawhide bone? Cute. Ripping ass in my face? Precious. Chewing up Mrs. T's digital camera? Adorable. Stepping on my testicles just to look at what I'm eating? Priceless. Murdering a hobo and leaving me with the carcass? Welcome to the family.

My phone is filled with images such as these. Every puzzled look, every cuddle, every endearing moment is captured in my phone leaving no room for images of boozery, debauchery, and douchery. Next thing I know I'll spend my free time not going out to the bar, but dressing up my dog and placing the dog in pageants.

I need an intervention. And I also need my balls back. Thank you.