Wednesday, October 24, 2012
TRICK OR TREAT WITH VALTREX
Can all–temperature Cheer™ get that lingering smell of bleach and raw shrimp out of Umberto’s shiny, new khakis?
Umberto’s mom is about to find out.
You might want to give that umbrella a spritz, too.
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these two remind me that it’s better to rewipe than to scratch an itchy bunghole!
She’s alright for a whore. But I’d rather have sex with Annette Funicello’s increasingly disabled body plagued with MS (no fucking respect at all fuck) while her feeding tube was shoved up my cocck.
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Mooseketeers
I had a comment, but it’s kinda tough to follow the Rev. Chad so I’ll just keep it to myself.
Carry on, Rev.
Umbrella ? that’s his penis pump.
Umbrella? Cock pump? Whatever that rigid looking object is under that skanks arm it’s as certain as the day you were born that thing got shoved up his ass later that day.
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I use to think meth addiction was a sad thing in this country but after seeing these two I’ve had a change of heart, freebase on good sir and ma’am freebase on!
Umberto was about to shoot his load too fast in the circle jerk up the path. He grabbed a female to help tone down the horny, then returned to his spot.
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Hang in there Umberto! You’ll need these survival skills when you go back in the joint
Umberto’s shirt says “don’t eat pu$$y”. And that’s a wise policy in this case.
I draw the line at dead chicks, so unconscious chicks and feeding tube sex may be borderline, but still alright.
When Umberto told the bleeth he was “Gonna make it rain all up in here!” she was dumb enough to bring an umbrella. And life has been all downhill for these two ever since.
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Oh fucck off. I couldn’t resist.
The white trash tango.
Kimmie’s dad gingerly sits down on the hemorrhoid pillow he’s needed for the last few years — too much goddamned airplane travel, he thinks to himself as the sharp pain shoots up from below. He turns on the computer, hoping to get in a quick knob-tug before the wife comes to tell him that “Dancing With The Stars” is on. He types “Hot Chicks” into google and ends up here, looking at the daughter who only visits on holidays anymore. The thoughts come thick and fast.
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25 fucking years working at goddamned IBM. 25 years of wearing a fucking tie 5 days a week, spending 11 months out of the year on the road trying to sell goddamned AS/400 software that no one wants anymore in shitholes like fucking Cedar Rapids and Dubuque. 25 years of saving for her fucking college and here she is blowing some fucking MS-13 member in a port-a-john at Bonnaroo for a line of coke. God-damn-it I should have worn a goddamned condom on that vacation to Florida back in 86.
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He reaches down, opens the drawer, and looks at the revolver again. He’s looking at it more and more often these days.