GWiMMRN, Special Reprieve from Apocalypse Bump Day Edition

I've decided to keep Old Scratch at bay for a while, in the hopes that you dooky-tasters can FOCUS on what's in my mouth and thereby redeem your otherwise worthless little selves.

I say this in love, you realize. Not contempt. The love a man might have for a dog that piddles occasionally on the carpet and humps his daughter's leg, but is still worth having around for the free snacks of dog shit it provides on a daily basis. I hope I've made myself clear.

GWiMMRN:

A) The penis money
B) The sweaty bra formerly owned by that skinny, small-titted chick I met in a club a few years back who, after getting really angry drunk, I fucked like a football tackling dummy
C) An admittedly unfair accusation
D) The delicious feeling of looking for another job every day you come into work, mingled with a soupcon of anticipation
E) The popsicle stick I fooled a homeless man into thinking was a rectal thermometer after I drew numbers on it
F) Whole wheat banana bread, the new treat at my house
G) John Elway's big, fat, toothy cock