Thursday, October 21, 2010
The Burnt Loaf
Poor Elyse.
Home for a long weekend. Midterms just around the corner.
Then her mom’s best friend’s optometrist’s wife totally new this guy who would, like, be totally perfect for her, because, like, he’s an investment banker and loves to, like, surf. So Elyse said, “Sure? Why not?
And there he is. Burnt Loaf.
There is no social or spiritual justice for the tasty legged giggle blondes of this world.
And so we mock his pre-cancerous skin from afar.
Apologies the pic is so small, but it was too orange not to run. And Elyse is tasty.
.
– management
I think he’s just wearing one of those orange vests for when you go running at night so cars see you.
Looks like he just belly flopped off a five story building onto the hot asphalt of the parking lot below.
.
Let’s hope he makes his next leap a swan dive.
She’s cute. I would eat a tootsie roll out of her butthole, no problem.
standing next to him her skin looks like she’s been locked in the basement since last November. At least she’s been putting the lotion on.
That’ll teach him to check his antifreeze shirtless before the engine cools.
That’s what happens when the spacetime fabric ruptures into a wormhole and your bedroom turns into the sauna at Gold’s Gym while you’re sleeping.
He’s gotta stop standing so close to the microwave waiting for his pizza rolls.
It’s like when you’re having breakfast at Denny’s, trying to put some ketchup on your grand slam ham & cheese omelet, and the whole bottle empties on the plate.
He’s just a chameleon who walked in front of a firetruck.
Maybe he’s just a burn victim who had all his skin replaced with porn star labia.
No mock here. That sunburn’s gotta be painful as shit.
I gotta give him a notta. Pumped-up, burnt, some kind of ugly tat, but a genuine-looking smile and no hand signals, plus he’s holding her hand, I give him a pass.
It’s “knew” not “new.”
Thanks a lot Boss. Now I have a spot on my fuccen monitor that glows bright fuccen orange. Hydrochloric acid, sodium hydroxide, aqua regia none of these work. My IT department is gonna give me a 15″ full CRT green screen monitor next if you don’t stop this shit. Or maybe you could send me one of those nice 19″ jobber and send a warning email next time.
So, did the aborigines have the spit come out of his mouth or the top of his head and that’s why he has the hat on? I just wanna know how he escaped.
Stackhouse must of fuccked up when he tried to deep fry this one. “Don’t deep fry me ‘bro!”
I thought Kenny Roger’s rotisserie chicken franchise went under.
This asshole make the sun look like it’s dark blue.
I bet I know what each meal he eats consists of: Tang, circus peanuts, oranges, carrots, and candy corn. On Sundays he eats two whole pumpkins while kegeling a pair of basketballs.
Fucck. I forgot yams. Lots and Lots of yams too.
Looks like the Vegas death ray has claimed another victim.
We’ve seen this gal before, she looks familiar.
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As for Burnt Loaf, that moniker brings visions of a next day blood tinged poop after a late-night-King Taco-with-extra-red-sauce run.
Burnt loaf sweats gamma rays.
The Bag Red One.
.
The Red Bag of Queerage
.
Red-Bellied Hoodpecker?
Burnt loaf poops flaming hot cheetos
“Knock, knock”
“Who’s there?”
“Orange.”
“Orange who?”
“Orange you glad I woke you up when you fell asleep under the sun lamp?”
Burnt loafs boogers are hot tamales
Burnt loaf farts pepper spray
Burnt loaf pees tobasco sauce
Burnt loaf cums jalapeno jelly
sorry
Borderline on if he goes to closet of poo or gets a notta pass. But since he’s posing for a picture in his living room with no shirt on and has the backward hat tilt / stupid tatt thing going on, douche. And she need to touch up her roots, while were critiquing
I give him a notta, with a stern written warning. Side tatt (It has indeed become a douche signifier, IMHO. Once the realm of people whose limbs were already full, it’s now become the new tribal armband), hat tilt and too damn much time in the gym. Stop now, Hierorangemus Bosch.
Medusa, maybe, but I think it’s obvious that it’s impossible to get that shade from exposure to the sun.
Well, gee whiz, I think we’ve finally gotten a glimpse of Scrotisserie Chicken NOT in his govt. duds.
The color of funny.
If he sits on a curb, a dog might pee on him.
ASK THE INVESTMENT BANKER IF HE IS SINGLE-HANDEDLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ECONOMIC RECESSION.
someone has to do it.