Sunday, December 18, 2011
Best Golden Globes #2: Stephanie McGee
Fake? Perhaps. But doe-eyed confusion and perky swole are enough to take the prize, as the voters gave these globes the globes.
Or, as Baron Von Goolo put it:
She looks like Micheal Chiklis and Vin Diesel are fighting to put on the same tank top.
Holy shit that’s funny Vin.
Sorry I meant BvG. Somewhere between boobs and Vin Diesel my brain seized up and I thought Vin Douchal.
yuck. Sorry – no. Inflate-o-bleeths make me ill.
In Amërïka quantity trumps quality every time, so Stephanie is a true winner and will wear her crown proudly for the next year, congrats Steph, now sit down and take a load off.
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I can’t top “….the juice began to boil in her mulatto soul…” from the last thread.
Furthermore, I’m not near the stud The Rev is, as I reveal in the following sad, but true, tale of unrequited love:
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I recall standing beside my desk in Miss Bevetta’s third grade class on the first day of the school year, filled with fear and trepidation. I was a frail and bashful child who had already been enrolled in three different school systems. The proverbial new kid with no friends, trying hard to focus upon something positive to quell the churning in my stomach and put a halt to my overwhelming anxiety.
As I scanned the room, sizing up the other students, my eyes fell upon a vision of such beauty and resplendence my fears were soon forgotten. Her name was Denise. She was a pert little beauty with blond hair worn in the Pixie style fashionable in those days. Her full lips and round face were accentuated by large blue eyes, one slightly askance, which sparkled like the surface of a sun-dappled mountain stream in early Spring. I was hopelessly smitten, and determined to get past my shyness and meet the object of my adoration so we could begin a life of blissful harmony together.
The weeks went by, and I could barely bring myself to look at Denise, much less speak to her, but my love for her intensified like a pyrotechnic display gone out of control at a Great White concert.
I noticed that at recess many of the boys would play a game that involved a huge pack of kids chasing one with a ball, the object was to wrest the ball from it’s holder and attempt to keep it as long as possible. Denise was the only girl involved in this rough and tumble pursuit, and she excelled. She could absorb a punishing blow as well as deliver one, a powerful runner who could outdistance most of the boys. This, of course, only further endeared her to me. I knew I must involve myself in that game.
I began playing, careful to stay on the perimeter to avoid injury, but always keeping an eye on Denise, not sure what my next move would be. The answer came one afternoon when I got close to the kid with the ball and the group fell as one. I remember falling on my back, but instead of my head hitting the hard ground, it was cushioned by something soft and indescribably pleasant. I looked up and to my surprise and delight, I found that I had fallen with my head resting in Denise‘s lap! It was a feeling of joy which I had never before experienced. All I could manage to do was look up into her face and smile the blissful, broad smile of a fool in love.
Within a split second, Denise jumped to her feet, my head bouncing hard on the ground. She looked down at me, and with an evil sneer, delivered two savage and powerful kicks to my head. I still vividly recall the dull thudding sound with each blow as she raced off to find the ball and resume the game. I lay on the ground confused and bewildered, holding back tears.
In the subsequent days I found that the rising knots on my head, though painful, were nothing when compared to the anguish of my bruised and broken, eight-year-old heart. A heart which never fully recovered. Those two swift kicks pretty much set the tone for my romantic life, one filled with love-gone-wrong, failed marriages, child custody hearings and long, lonely nights spent masturbating to pictures of half-naked biker chicks in a hazy, NyQuil induced semi-stupor.
I still think of Denise sometimes. I’m sure she’s very happy. Probably a full-blown bull dike playing forward for an international rugby team.
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But, I’m not bitter.
She leaves me colder than an Eskimo Pie in a liquid-nitrogen-filled capsule racing through the darkest regions of space.
Well, she did already have the crown. Congrats Stephanie, you make non religious men Tebow in their shorts.
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At Hermit, you’re right, that didn’t top “the juice boiling in her mulatto soul” but it was poignant and everythng was spelled really good.
All the humans in the above photo are moroons. Shithead on the right looks like a teen that was text walking towards me with his head down in the mall today. I stiffened my shoulder and bounced the 98 pound weakling on his ass, phone flying, battery
compartment spilling it’s contents.
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I said, gosh, are you okay ? And helped him up roughly. It felt fuccen great… Hehehe…
Little attention whore. That’s all she is.
She’s not even that hot. Way too much makeup, hair treatment, and tanning. Without it, she’d be a 7 tops.
Now Rhea, that chick was hot.
Agree with and echo the above sentiments, but that’s a killer set of jugs nonetheless. Deep down I’m very shallow.
a babyy’s ass filled with gastro-intestinal excretion aroma to 7500 psi….don’t get to close with shards of glass or gnawing rat teefseses!
by age 28 her backside will look like 2 jumbo boat fenders trapped between a coast guard cutter, the dock & a rising tide!
I feel ya, Hermit. Trust me.
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She’s not my first choice, but it’d be one of the better racks I’ve come across.
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^I’m not at all sure how I just did that.
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ONWARD VIKINGS, TO YON RODEO!!!
Hey, Sock. I took my kids to a place called Yogurt Love today, near Mission Bay in San Diego. I’m gonna have Wedgie Jr. photograph the front and send it to you. A little photoshop magic and you will have your very own Viking Yogurt Love franchise.
PS: That girl has a great rack. I’d pop her, and I don’t wanna hear all you weenies whining about “her tits are too big” or “she’ll be fat in 15 years”. If that girl came on to any of you knuckleheads, you’d be on her so fast the wind from your sprint would knock over a fuccen house.
R I P Kim Jong Il, you sadistic fuk…now were are they burying your maggot ridden carcass? I got a pint o’ piss fermentin’ to christen the spot!
I ain’t gonna wedge my hairy noggin inbetween Chiklis and Diesel at the vortex of Stephanie’s Globes just because Wedgie says I should — I’ll do it for the American people, dammit!
If the Illuminati ever “comes across” DarkSock’s search engine history, they’ll just shake their heads and throw their hands up helplessly.
Fake? Perhaps.
I think the Academy has stuffed this one up. Say no to silicone people.
Young, dumb and full of cum. Thats all 3 in this pic.
Suburban gang signs,,,,so intimidating.
I think about doing what Vin D said at 5:36 everyday of my life on the glorious MTA Transit subways….Nice work brother!
“Love intensifying like a pyrotechnic display gone out of control at a Great White concert” is pretty fucccen phunny.
@Hermit
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That was beautiful. I hope I didn’t offend you with my tales of oreo loving. I will make amends to those who I have offended in song. The band who brings the colors together, the rainbow warriors of gay pride to the 2011 Douchies……………..Neil Diamond and Shirley Bassey.
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“Secondly, we will declare them insane and deny the existence of their ideas.”
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Fuck. I have developed censor fingers.
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Wedgie,
I don’t think anybody’s saying they wouldn’t, it’s just that she’s nobody’s first choice. I’ve personally seen a lot better, and I’ve witness the path girls like this little attention whore go down too many times.
And it will be a lot less than 15 years…Here it is:
1) married guy on the right before 25
2) pregnant around the same time
3) cuts her hair off three months later
4) has kid but doesn’t lose fat
5) cosmetology license
6) gets job cutting hair in the mall
7) divorces guy on the right (alcoholism and they sleep around on each other)
8) marries guy on the right (he’s a mechanic or plumber or something dead end)
9) life over
All before the tender age of 30. Watch.
yeah, she wreaks of all that breakdown, Nostradouchus and probably a lot more. Each time I look at her a feeling of mild embarrassment for females under 30 washes over me. The lengths they go to for the attention of complete and utter cocksmokers is astonishing.
And if anyone looks as if they enjoy farm animals in a nontraditional manner it’s her two toe rag outriders.
I enjoy farm animals in the traditional manner.
^El Ranchero De Louisiana
This is travesty of Darwinian proportions, and by proportions I mean big fake titties.
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What can we hope for the fate of the human race when frizzy blonde hair and a pair of inflatable yabbos trick our inborn mating responses into thinking this is somehow more desirable than Stephanie’s natural grace and beauty?
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I don’t know either, but I know it is bad. So bad that Darwin’s rules of natural selection don’t even apply. It’s more like a Lamarckian crap shoot in the great genetic casino. The crowd has decreed that blond hair and plastic fun bags are more aesthetically pleasing (even it comes topped with a planet sized chubby-faced head, as it does here) and… poof… women of all shapes and sizes can adapt near instantaneously through judicious use of a credit card.
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McCrude is not pleased. I’m temped to take my Stephenie and go home.
Oh, and hermit said it better, and hermit rocks like pre-1970 Led Zeppelin powered by cocaine and rocket fuel.
^natural grace and beauty should have referred Stephie, who I now realize was not even running in this category, but was nevertheless robbed. My point remains the same, and just as confused, as it ever was.
Her tits + my face = Darksock-esque motorboat accident.
Her boob flesh is so tight that if she had any “inner beauty” it would be shining through her rack like when you were a kid and it was dark and you’d stick a flashlight in your mouth, turn it on, and everyone could count your cavities.
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Myself, inner beauty or not, I’d rather stick her boobs than a flashlight in my mouth, but you get the idea.
^You’d like to stick your flashlight in her mouth, alright.
@McCrudeshoes 10:03a, I feel the same way about dudes who use steroids. False advertising. Plus teabagging tiny balls is so juvenile.
I don’t know if wearing a tiera on the Thanksgiving hoedown is really happening. Did she win something? No,just two dogs next to her panting and dripping saliva. But she seems stuck somewhere and begs to move to a larger city with people who speak English. Poor Stephanie. Like her boobs,she is only trying to bust out of Arkansas.
I didn’t vote for this broad, but y’all sound like a bunch of Ive leaguers or some shit with all this “they’re fake and too big shit”.
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Whatever happened to the Delta House I used to know?