Saturday, July 7, 2007
The Great White Douche
Nothing slaps me awake on a Saturday morning like knowing that Chesty McDoucheclowns are running around placing their greased up Grieco Paws on perfect slices of inner thighs.
Where’s my harpoon gun. I want to hammer a gold coin to a post and take a rag-tag whaling crew out to hunt for The Great White Douche, which is really a metaphor for my own personal demons.
Then I would Bartleby his scrivener. With a blow torch and pliers.
Speaking of abs I would suckle like a hungry sea lion. Not that we were actually talking about abs I would suckle like a hungry sea lion. But if we were, then hers would relate to the discussion.
