GREATEST CRISIS OF MODERNITY: GETTIN' CHEMICALLY SWOLE. SON.
DarkSock here, dispensing this year’s G.C.o’M.
Dammit, Boss stole my thunder by posting this photo Saturday under the possibly twinkie-withdrawal induced title of “Most Impending Sign of Nuclear Scrotacalypse”, but no matter. This only reinforces my thesis, like the wholesome fiber and bran of Justice.
In the primordial con-groo-ation that is douchethink, bigger is better. This is of course why ‘bags must be repeatedly reminded and retrained after each lunch break running the till at their Arby’s gig that although a nickel is bigger, a dime is more valuable.
If a C-cup is good because it gets attention, well hot damn it stands to reason that a pornesque DDD is double-plus-good. Right? If pleasingly firm biceps are desirable, then hormone-swollen limbs that thwart wiping one’s anus without audible grunts is The Bomb.
As long as douchebags lust for the “TIT” in “Titillation and bleethes pine for the “COCK” in “Peacocking” then these unholy couplings of amplified freakish meat-sacs will continue…these lost souls will endeavor on past midnight to the baleful throb of club beats to make and break sexual alliances like lost socks tumbling in the Coin-Op Dryer of Oblivion ensconced in the vast Laundramat of Despair and Poo. This confluence of bulbous external sex organs and swole beach muscles can be evinced writhing in sweaty club hook-ups in pee-stink cave-echo-sultry bathrooms; lolling teats, chemically distended tumescent abs and Raisinette™ testes lubed by hair gel and Preparation H, emitting an unholy balloon-squeak symphony like Satan’s Crickets in the Bait Shop of Hell.
And they do this not only shamelessly, but proudly; wagging their yogurt hoses and flapping their silicone fortified dairy bastions at polite society like so many lewd KY-encrusted party favors…because their cartoonishly exaggerated flesh, good for maybe another decade or so, is their currency and worth. So reasons their room-temp IQ narcissist minds.
They simply do not comprehend that they are the Nickels. And just like Weekend Hulk here at his weekday Arby’s register…it is up to society to make change.
All ye young baglings & bleethette’s who want to or are already heading down this path I beseech you to put down your E-gadget du jour, take a few deep breaths, concentrate/focus and really read this.
DarkSock hit is out of the park with this one I might just have to do an Ambien™ in his honor.
Gettin’ Chemically Swole has become such an epidemic that GYMS are now making fun of this Modern Crisis.
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Too Lazy To Search Youtube For That Gym Advert To Provide As Example
Once, while in a drug-induced coma, I clearly heard Satan’s Crickets in the Bait Shop of Hell.
One consultation, all these swole fuckers are unable to procreate and will die before they’re forty.
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In the Bait Shop of Hell all the minnows are floating, the tackle is overpriced and the soft drinks are luke warm.
I’ve been there.
I believe this is what they refer to as a crime against nature.
They are no longer fully biodegradable. Culturally degrading, yes.
Nickel/dime: fantastic.
Darks Socks hyperbole is oxymoronic in essence. It is both simile and irony incorporate. The paradox of the nickle and dime preponderous in it’s person-year echo of primitive observance of anthropological query. An analysis of the Ancients brought full circle like Stonehenge (respect) on a winter Solstice. Druids loins drip in anticipation of his wisdom as Angela Merkel soils her panties with the Knockwurst of a thousand years fermentation. And we go into a New Age in which we are all stil alive, fucking stupid Indians calendars.
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Welcome my Son, welcome to the new machine, The Age Of Kroegarious. Fucking stoned, Man,
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Exploding Pam wakes from night terrors almost every night. It’s always the same… shortness of breath followed by a growing feeling that some monstrous demon is sitting on her chest trying to crush the life out of her.
@DarkSock, that Nickel / Dime analingus is pure genus.
Well done, Sock.
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Freakish Meat-Sacs will be my next band’s name.
Well done, ‘Sock. That chorus of squeeking you hear is 1000 balloons being rubbed together in appreciation of your prose.
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The loud popping is our brains evacuating the tops of our skulls.
If she ever tries to nurse her future welfare baby the pressure of the milk stream will punch holes through the back of its throat cleaner than a TSA agent dabbing the last pink sprinkles off the bottom of the donut box with his pudgy thumbs.
Can just picture this menstruating She-Beast harridan spotting him at the gym screaming at his slowdown during the 4th set of squats while she bops to Kenny Chesney on her i-Pod
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The only thing I’d like to see bigger on this dude is that lump on his left testicle that keeps getting more tender by the minute and the resulting bloody urine stream
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Too mean? Don’t think so, bitches
Since the Rev wants old school, let’s bring it back to America and celebrate the (thankfully) last episode of Jersey Shore.
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New Jersey’s own, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Dukes : Love On The Wrong Side Of Town
If their lives were set to music, it would be an unholy mix of Nickelback, Prodigy, and Toby Keith doing Nickelback covers.
if they were to swim in the sea, Neptune would puncture them with his trident
small fry
Douche Wayne, here ya go:
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The ginormous fake cans on this woman are a total boner killer. She is repulsive.
First thing I thought of,these two will never decompose,and their stinking rotting flesh be around like a Twinkie.I imagine their spawn sees there’s money to be made in this. So they dig them up and bronze them more,and put them on display,where people walk by and make dragon horns near their faces. That’s what they bring to society.
You can never be too harsh about these two.
but her tits look soo natural
Steroid junkie with pin dick and anorexic slapper with fake tits
2overgrown