Thursday, January 12, 2012
Marty Deuce Is Emotionally Distant Towards Ripped Jeans Kelly
Marty Deuce is droppin’ loads. Of laundry. Off at the dry cleaners on Pico and Robertson. At his day job.
Ripped Jeans Kelly is all that is androgyne early 1990s ripped jeans butch hottness.
LMFAO @ the douche and SMH at the hott.
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FML
Time to load the sandwich cannon bombard these purgers with some caloric armament.
OK – I’ll get an avatar after I motorboat Kelly’s boobs.
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Quakers.
Seeing Marty Deuce makes wanna pinch a deuce.
@Nancy
What would be cool would be if your avatar WAS a picture of you motorboating Kellys Boobs or any boobs for that matter.
Marty wears diapers. He names them after species of moth. His favourite is Bogong Moth after he eats chocolate because the insides are so delicious.
Kelly doesn’t rip her jeans – her jeans rip her. Gently. with sniffy unicorn kisses. She lets loose with sweet pussy farts that smell like lavender kitten burps.
She looks like she claiming her prize after beating the shit out of him. “Now smile for the camera bitch ’cause I OWN YOUR ASS!”
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And never, ever wear a shirt with ripped off sleeves and cut down the sides unless you have some big-assed arms. Otherwise you always look like this.
‘hey mercury, looks like we got us some tenderloin’!
A word to the wise, NEVER do this:
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http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1743-6109.2011.02579.x/abstract
^”Considering this case, we discourage penile tattooing”.
No shit?
Hey, Megan Fox, when does this dweeb transform into a beagle and run away with his tail between his legs? Now, please
I love Ripped Jeans Kelly’s smile. And by that I mean I would love to ejaculate on her various and sundry frenulums.
I don’t know what androgune means but that looks like a girl and it looks ayight..
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And Fred N. must be racist cause he doesn’t appreciate my lovin’ for the part of the population that was done Presidential-style. And by Presidential I mean Jefferson.
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Sanfords
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What?
Conjoined twins, attached at the taint. It’s a watersport lovers…err… wet dream.
*whiff*
@Et Tu 2:45p. yeah, that would be pretty tits. And is this chick considered androgenous because she’s wearing a scarf instead of a boob reveals garment? No wonder that ski instructor called me dude that one time. Sorry ladies, apparently if you wanna be considered fem you’ve gots to have the ta tas on display 24-7.
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Puritans
Marty looks like a total knob. Kelly looks like she could totally do my knob. Conflict? Nah…
I usually don’t impugn another man’s masculinity without just cause, but Marty looks like a one man glory hole at a boy-band convention.
Marty,Kelly is just too much for you to handle.
It does not look like I’m going to bed early tonight so I think that this is an appropriate event to which I may lay my soul out uninvited like so many Mohave (respect) Indians sullen about the death of Chief Dan George. Fucking buffalo on a crosshair he wasn’t any older than my old friend on the reserve here, Johnny Two Smokes For A Blow Job.
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LuckilyJohnny was a girl named April who had the nicest 12 year old ass I have ever seen. When I seen it I was also 12 years old you fucking pervs. So she’s having blowies with a few of the white hockey player dudes.
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I never played organized hockey because my parents had money and took me skiing every weekend to avoid the nonsense of being a Canadian hockey parent believing that every boy would be a star. So one weekend we were skiing in way upstate New York and April was there with a tight pair of ass hugging ski pants and I almost jizzed in my pants. She was adopted by a native lawyer and her husband, a whiteface.
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So I met her for a little date in which she asked me why I was so shy around her. I told her it was because I used to be chubby. April said “I’d like to see your chubby in my mouth.” I told her to touch my p
@Rev Chad! You can leave a p hanging like that. Did you or did you not ha(e a three way with her and John MacEnroe in your basement with the Morgan Fairchild poster?
Whenever Rev Chad pulls one of these unfinished opuses of his I picture him typing away in his Burt Reynolds Cannonball Run themed man cave and getting so worked up over typing the word penis he just falls back in his chair and passes out.
So, me and the Mrs just watched three episodes of Dark Shadows. Nancy Barrett was fuckin’ HOTT, but most of the women on there were gorgeous – Kate Jackson, Lara Parker. Some seriously lovely women. Especially after sucking down some/too much AWESOME El Dorado 12 year old Rhum. Yum.
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re:Rev, I got nothing to report about my life as a 12 year old. I had a crush on a girl named Debbie. It wasn’t until this past summer that I told her that. Only 40 years late. Sigh. She’s still very beautiful and just as much of a sweetie pie today as she was then. Really Good People.
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So, Nancy – you gonna get an avatar or what?
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I knew a girl named Nancy once. Her parents were hardcore military (dad was colonel, retired as a general). She was a fucking lunatic. For a long time she was anorectic, and then she got better and was only bulimic. The nshe beat that and was just fucking crazy. I remember I was visiting her boyfriend, Dave, and we were getting completely fucking hammered and watching TV when Reagan, in his divine fuckheadedness declared USSR illegal and said bombing would satart in 5 minuntes. Dave lived 8 blocks from the Russian embassy on 16th NW. (Man this rhum is great – I’m-a-gettin me some more BRB)
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So, like yeah – We’re sitting there and all these LADA’s and Mercedes start flying up 16th St with lights flashing and shit and we’re watching the news and we’re thinking “OK, it’s the end of the fucking world. Ronnie, that ASSHOLE, has just started WW3. Fuck.”
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So we figure – what to do? We’ll be vapourised by morning, so WTF? So, Dave calls Nancy and sez “Hey bitch – we’re goin’ dancing, get over here NOW”. So, Nancy comes by and heads for the shower. two hours later she emerges. Dave and I are working the bong and watching TV. Suddenly, this SHREEEEEEEK comes out of the bathroom. Dave and I look at each other with a “WTF?” look. NAncy comes bounding out of the bathroom. Naked. Now, she’s no longer anorectic, or bulimic, just completely FIXATED on being THE PERFECT WEIGHT and she’s standing right there in front of use, butt nekkid. And she starts screaming at us “I’m 116!!!! I should be 115!!! EEEEUeuaAuauaauaugh!!!”
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I’m just staring at her landing strip and her boobs. NICE boobs. NICE landing strip.
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“well, jeez, nancy – we’re gonna go dancing – I’m sure you’ll work it off there…”
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She just storms off and spends another 2 hours putting her make up on.
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So, we FINALLY go dancing. I dance with a number of lovely ladeeez, and even spend some time dancing / running in place with Nancy. She hugs me and says “You’re a good dancer Troy” and I kiss her on the head.
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We all wander back to Dave’s, Nancy, Dave, Me and this girl, Karen, who has a serious overbite and a really bad haircut, but a a slender waist, and an awesome rack and knows everything about Firesign Theatre and is therefore automatically uberKewl in my book. On the way Nancy steals flowers from gardens we pass. It is now 3 AM and we’re all bushed and I’m smooching with Karen and Nancy is sprinkling petals on us. Dave says “Get a room you two”.
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Karen says “naaaa – hey Troy – how about this weekend?”
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I called her to get together that weekend, but she said “Your friends are way too weird for me. Nancy scares me. And Dave – I mean does he even like work or anything? I’d like to get to know you, but I don’t want those losers around.”
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Click.
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nematodes.
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@Troy, um yeah. Wasn’t me. It’s nice to know other Nancys have nice racks too. I don’t feel so alone anymore. So let me guess Troy, your man cave is filled with creepy ass puppets and some obscure punk band poster. And I’m sure you’ve got a Lemonheads album in there somewhere.
Thankfully, Kelly did not elect to reproduce the female hairstyles of that period. There were a number of greats things in the early nineties, but the hairstyle was not one of them.
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However, the object of derision is far more potent. In the vast swathe of studies that overlap cognitive science and psychology, one of the great “oversights” is that as human beings, we cannot trust our perceptions when we look in the mirror. In fact, there is a plethora of evidence suggests that when it comes to may activities of perception, we tend to superimpose our own memories and imagination to fill “in the gaps as it were.” You use your memory + preconceived notions far more than we tend to realize.
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Why am I bringing this up? Because Sparky here seems to believe that when he looked in the mirror that the leftover, ketoned-stained shirt discarded by a schizophrenic, artificially testosterone-filled roidbag, was suitable as an accoutrement. Notwithstanding the obvious baggery of having roid and musclebags sport these obvious signals of narcissism when they are grunting and yelling as if though abortively attempting to reassert their hierarchical standing in such a vaulting milieu as the gym , Marty, I despairingly fear, looks as if though he is way out of his depth. This is largely because you have, by the most conservative of standards, to have some substance to fill out such a shirt. This tends to avoid the “I-am-wearing-a-parachute-as-a-shirt” phenomenon, which not only highlights your weaknesses but also betrays one’s complete obliviousness of their relative stature. He most likely believes that “shufflin’ ” is a sufficient workout to get him “toned” and “hardcore” for the “dancefloor.”
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In reality, that just makes him easy target for maneuvers not to his liking, which may tend to occur as he returns late to his 4-bedroom house with his thinly-veiled homoerotic roommates. Poor Marty, he honestly thought getting headshots was a reference to MW3.
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On a slightly more sobering note, I must apologize for my sporadic absence. However, I would like to express my thanks for being inducted in the Hall, my good sir, DB1. I happily takes its prerogatives in which case I should be starting an Alpaca farm. “Tis a New Year, my fellow baghunters, and given the Western culture’s endless need to reinvent itself, we may be just lucky enough to witness Mayan themes being crassly incorporated into the Douchal Complex as it is 2012. If so, I will have to update my understanding of Meso-American history. If I do that however, I may just have to perform some sort of exorcism to avoid the possession by a Herpstergeist.
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Come at me bro! (with my inappropriately selected ripped shirt).
Some of you guys subscribe to the “why just use a sentence when 5 paragraphs will do” school of threadery. If I want War & Peace, I won’t come in here. Lighten up, Francis.
Side moobs make me wretch.
Kelly’s so hott her jeans ripped from the heat, and her boobs are bursting at the teat….whereas I get nothing but a cold feeling lookin’ at all that exposed slab o’ sidemoob porchbeef on Martydeuce.
I knew a girl named Nancy once. We all knew her as Susan Underhill.
Marty looks like a stick insect climbing out of a plastic grocery bag.
@ wedgie
Don’t discourage long posts. I for one take my phone into the can and need some reading material. Of course the next stall over must wonder why the blithering idiot with the shit storm explosions that smell like the mouth of hell is chuckling.
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Pinkos
@Baron – you mean Betty Jo Bealovsky?
@Nancy – no, my “man cave” is filled with audio gear and books.
I have always been very fond of women who would kick my pasty ass and then demand sexual gratification. I miss those kindergarten days behind the school yard.
@Sir David, I’m glad you not dead bro. I trust your homemade jellys are still no homo.
@Troy, that’s sounds pretty normal. What the yell is wrong with you?
Melanie Haber?
Audrey Farber?
Jared Leto went to a concentration camp.
Not that normal. The audio gear is geeky high end music production stuff (Mackie mixer / ProTools DAC / AKAI APC40 control surface / EVENT PS-8 studio monitors, Yamaha Motif XS6 keyboard, boxes filled with every known cable type), my laptop (HP i5) and the books? All philosophy, theory and science, three long shelves – hundreds of books, so shelf start / end:
shelf 1: Overshoot by Catton to Telekommunist Manifesto by Kleiner
Shelf 2: What we leave behind by Jensen to Organised Networks by Rossiter
Shelf 3: Afterwords by John Brockman to A Wikipedia Reader by Lovink
So, it’s the geekiest geek man cave among man caves for geeks.
She’s hott.