Friday Thoughts and Links
Prada bags. For men. Just don’t call them a “murse.”
I’ve been in kinda a mood lately. Not sure why. The world is stupid, we know this. But sometimes I’m more hopeful. And other times I see Grieco Virus in even the darkest corners of our haunting collective unconscious.
Then again, the 2000s were stupid. And the 1990s were stupid, too. Perhaps more so. We stood around with too much time on our hands and too much money and thought things like Presidential Peepee and Brittney Spears were interesting.
So there’s that.
But on our collective death beds, we will all achieve total consciousness. So we got that going for us.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week: “I admire you as a policeman. Particularly your adherence to violence as a necessary adjunct to the job.”
Ubiquitous Red Cup: For the Aristocracy
Dubstep. Everyone’s talking about it. No one really knows what it is. And in six months, no one will care. So enjoy Dubstep Cat.
You know what never gets old? The fart from Zapped.
The Ab-Hancer. For the laziest of the lazybags.
Okay, you’ve been good. Here you go:
Or, as the mathematicians measure it, 3.1415gnawchompbitesuckle
All I know is the spirit of the ’90s is alive in Portland.
Murses, Scary Dubstep cat, nice pear. That’s it. He must have low blood sugar. Somebody tell Et Tu I owe him $20.
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I present Dubstep Surfer Girl Pears:
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I’d suck down that fart like I was inhaling a fine Cuban cigar.
Mmmm……… Spherical Denim Pear!!!!
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@DB1 that would be a Gucci bag not Prada. I’m ashamed I even know this.
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@ The Right Honorable Reverend Chad
I would say let’s double or nothing as that is the inveterate gambler that I am but I got’s to tell you there is not one series in the second round that I care to follow. Let’s find something else to wager on like UEFA Champions League final?, The Tour De France will be in July we could do that? or how bouts some London Summer Olympics action? If not just send me a chunk of Lenny The Box’s finest Hash.
I believe he is sporting a [possibly fake] LV man bag, which, due to its mass-appeasing emphasis on brand recognition over design, is even higher on the scale of douchenoxiousness. And it’s a man bag. And thus, poo.
^Not Prada or Gucci, but Douchi Vuitton. Probably the real reason that semetic slap-tickle is attracted to him.
I see she’s sitting Kardashian style, but since her fanny is on the guy’s leg and not the furniture I’ll give it pass.
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Denim pear needs to be carefully unwrapped, spritzed with lemon oil, and lightly spanked for a rosy glow.
Someone tell Spencer PrattBag that flesh-beards should be outlawed.
Yes! Zapped! I forgot about that gem.
And that’s some o’ the best darn pear I’ve seen on a Friday in some time. I raise my URC of 3 Buck Chuck to the weekend and the Sunday morning comin’ down hangover that’s surely in the mail.
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drunkards.
Oh yeah, and Man Purse Hipsterbag for the loss and Sophie’s perfectly gnawable shoulders for the win.
We now have confirmed evidence that Matthew Stafford is officially Douche.
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Ed Hochuli’s biceps say so.
yea, try not to get caught up in any 20th anniversary riots this weekend, DB1- who knows what this place would become if we lost you and DSock had full control of the wheel
@ Et Tu
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Do you want Bayern or Chelski? I’m a Bayern man meself. I hate fuccen Chelski with a white, hot burning passion reserved for billionaire Russian oilbags that are trying to ruin football. Well, them and those fuccksticks at Man City and the shit John Henry is trying to pull at Liverfool. At least the fuccen Glasers win championships even though they have debt out the wazoo.
I invented the threesome. I really wasn’t going to let the cat out of the bag, but I figured a little self-promotion never hurt anyone. I guess I really didn’t “invent” it, like I thought of it and did it on my own, but I was the first guy to talk about it and I got it going with the crew. Hand to God.
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One of the big myths out there is that men decide what goes on with the sex. I can tell you first hand that broads rule the world. I seen it myself. The sexual habits of our society were developed and driven by dames, not by Average Joes like me, not by guys like Sinatra, Dean or even Elvis. Don’t get me wrong, these cats did plenty but they were just following the lead set by the Ring-a-Ding Ding Chicks like Lana, Ava, Miss Monroe and a bunch of others. The studios were afraid that the strong dame angle would scare audiences. Trust me when I tells ya, these dames called the shots. This whole threesome thing proves it.
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Now back in the day we knew broads was getting it on with other broads. All kinds of chicks were into it, the cocktail waitresses at the Sands and the Trop were known for it, and around the studios in Hollywood a bunch of the Tomatos who hung around the lot would “dabble in the bush.” The bush, we says. But to be honest with you, it scared the crap out of the guys.
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One night we were at Dominick’s in Hollywood and Angie Dickenson and Juliet Prowse was going at it real good in a private room where we was having a private get-together. Angie was always good to go, and I told youse about Julilet in the “Miami Shaving Orgy” story. Juliet was this big, long incredibly sexy dancer. People couldn’t take their eyes off of her, guys and broads, alike. She was an all-time seducer. One time, in about 5-minutes, time she picked-up and went down on this cute little hat check girl who had been in town from Iowa for about a month, right there in the lobby of Chasen’s. Va bene!
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Anyways, we knew this stuff was going on and would watch, but we was terrified to get involved. No guy wanted to get in that situation and not be able to come through. Capice? Frank told me he saw Rita Hayworth go down on Kim Novak at a party one night when they were filming “Pal Joey,” and he about crapped his pants. Actually, there was a third dame involved, Barrie Chase who was a wild bitch. Chase was a bit part broad who was always in the mix when wild sex was on the menu. Her most notable role was playing the hippy girlfriend of Dick Shawn/Sylvester in, “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.” She was the wildest skirt in town and actually fucked her way out of a career. During the filming of MMMMW, she boffed Milton Berle so hard he had to take three days off and it put the movie behind schedule.
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Berle was another one with the big genitals. We called him “Freak Dick.” He banged everything, everywhere at any time but was a lousy lay. But he nailed anyone he wanted because he was who he was. The girls would sing “Take Me Out to the Berle Game,” the baseball song, with the line, “It’s one, two, three strokes he’s out at the old Berle game!” A big dick is a terrible thing to waste. Na mean?
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So Frank was watching the Hayworth/Novak/Chase three girl action but didn’t participate despite being asked. He said it was, “like watching Jake LaMotta fight Sugar Ray Robinson and thinking you could get into ring and start trowin’ punches. A guy could get hurt in there,” Frank says. He also would say, “My bird would fly the coop,” which was code for losing control before the time was right. It got to the point where the chicks were teasing us about joining in because they knew we was afraid. That was 1956 or 57! Madon!
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A little known fact about Frank; he would get a hard on every time he heard the song, “Oh,Marie.” but I digress. Digress, I says.
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Sammy had a problem in that he’d shoot his load too early. Premature emaculation, or something. He was involved with that Swedish bird May Britt at the time when he told me about his shot at getting in between her another dame, but turning it down and just watching. What a Titsune! Titsune, I says.
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The rest of the gang all had a shot at joining the fun – even Joey Bishop – but no one would pull the trigger. This is where I made history.
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I was working as Dean Martin’s stand-in on the flick,”Something’s Got To Give,” which was the last picture Miss Monroe worked on. She was fired, hired back and then died during the filming. The movie was never finished or released. And by working as Dean Martin’s stand-in I mean I banged all the gash Dean would have gotten if he was on the set. That’s it. No union work, no collecting, no nonsense. Well, I was collecting the Vig for the West Coast book, but that was hardly work, Ya mean?
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Now Miss Monroe loved the Braciola (pronounced, “bra-jole,” I says) and was good to go with anyone, guy or gal. Those Kennedys, the Original Douchebags if you ask me, did a real number on that poor dame. A real shame, but that’s another story for another time. So being Dean’s stand-in and all, I was on the set constantly, and I had a lot of direct contact with Miss Monroe and the female co-star Cyd Charisse. Charisse was one of the all-time pieces of Hollywood ass. Classy dame with a perfect body. She was a dancer and a fantastic lay. She loved the ladies and her relationship with Miss Monroe was one of the best kept secrets in Hollywoodland. Being on the set with them at the same times gave me major wood. Major Wood, I says.
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Dean was off working on another Rat Pack movie at the time, “Sergents Three,” which was a real piece of shit, by the way. Miss Monroe was missing a lot of time during the shoot – she took time off and did her her famous “Happy Birthday Mr President” performance during the time she was shooting this picture. She was fired during this stretch because she missed so much time shooting. So with all the down time, Dean started work on this other flick, which was being filmed on the same backlot. There were times when they shot scenes with Cyd, and me playing Dean. They’d shoot from an angle where you couldn’t see my face and they’d do something to my hair to make me look like Dean, and later they would dub Dean’s voice in. He didn’t mind because he was getting paid and didn’t have to put up the the nonsense that followed Monroe around when she was filming a picture. To tell you the truth there were some scenes I did that, when I watched the rushes, I forgot it was me on the screen and not Dean.
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One day Monroe showed up on the set ready to go and looking good when she wasn’t supposed to be there and they were planning on shooting some minor crap scenes without her. Dean was with Frank and Petey Lawford and the guys, working on the other picture, and was unavailable. But Charisse was around, so the director, a hotshot hump named George Cukor, decided to take advantage of the situation and set up to film a scene with me as Dean. It was mostly between the dames, and believe you me, no matter who the guy was, nobody would have been looking at him, Dean or no Dean. So we do the shot and everything was jake. They decided to do another series of close-up shots with us. If you check out the pool scene you will notice that there are scenes shot from behind where you can’t see Dean’s face while they are filming Monroe (that’s me), and others where you can’t see her face when they are shooting Dean where they used her stand-in. Anyways, the electricity between these chicks was crazy and I wore three pants of undershorts to help keep my boner down. Undershorts, I says.
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As we rapped shooting for the day the two dames tell me to meet them in Miss Monroe’s room so that we could go over some dialog for scenes they would be shooting in upcoming days. So, I know what they’ve been up to, Dean would give me a lot of the details, and I am as nervous as a finnoc at a hot dog eating contest. Dean never went with Monroe because he hated the Kennedys and would say he wouldn’t want to be where they had been. Anyways, I decide I’m going for it and if I blow my load early I’d gladly put up with the embarrassment to say I did what I did. Or almost did what I done. Na mean?
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But before we meet up, Monroe is doing a promo shoot in the pool, the famous one where she’s in the buff. As a matter of fact, if you watch the clip, I am the blur that walks into frame at about the 39 second mark and you can hear my voice talking to her at one point.
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So she gets out of the pool stark fucking naked and puts her blue robe on, but leaves it open in the front. Didn’t care who was there or who saw what. Charisse is there waiting for her and Monroe takes me by the hand and leads me up to her room with Cyd in tow. I have a pounding in my chest and in my pants as she closes the door to her room. I make drinks and the girls start working on the dialog. I chime in as I’m making the drinks, not really watching them. After an unusually long pause I look over and the two of them are going at it hammer and tongs on the couch. Hammer and tongs, I says. Monroe’s robe is off and Cyd is on her like a teamster on a scab worker at a dock strike riot.
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Before I know it, Charisse is out of her clothes and they are straddling each other. I move over and put the drinks on the table. As I start to move away from the table they grab my wrists and pull me down on the couch between them. I beat them to the punch, pull my pants off and take it out. Fuck them, I’m Douchey Wallnuts. Douchey Wallnuts, I says.
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The rest is a blur. They both go for my sausage (pronounced, “saw-zeege,” I says) and take turns giving me hand and mouth love. Madonna mia! I can still almost feel it today. They don’t finish me, but tease me, and I don’t go all Sammy Davis and shoot my load all over them after 20-seconds. I don’t know how, but I held off for a while before blowing like Vesuvius not once, not twice, but thrice, and saw and did the most amazing things humanly possible. Neither dame shaved down below, after all this is 5 years before the Miami Shaving Orgy, but neither one really had to. Miss Monroe was not a natural blonde, but you’d never know it to see her Sticch, and Charisse had this fine, black strip of gabeels that looked like Clark Gable’s mustache. Mangiare!
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It was hours and hours. I woke up the next morning and went back to my pad and then we got back to work. When Dean showed up later that day he looked at me and said, “What’s with the shit-eating grin?” I glanced over and nodded at the girls, who were giggling over something, and three little words came out if my mouth, “I did it.” Things were never the same.
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And these kids in the picture think they are having fun.
@Doc Bunsen
I’ll take Chelsea for the fuck of it. It’ll give me a good excuse to head to Pipers on the South Side. I was kinda hoping for a Barca v Real Madrid rematch but what can you do. What’s the wager?
Retro-Review, Bruce Springsteen, The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle
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Now, before you start chuckling, rolling your eyes or shaking your head, hear me out. Hear me out I says
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Recently, I received an e-mail from Amazon.com in regards to complete cd downloads for $5 each. Since Todd Snider‘s phenomenal new release, Agnostic Hymns & Stoner Fables, was featured I went in to purchase it and have a look around. I also bought , “The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle” since I’d lost the cd years ago. I re-realized the epic stature of this album
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When “The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle” (WIESS) came out I was very impressed, a fan, big fan. When “Born to Run” followed, I was done with Springsteen.
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He had peaked …. the sheer artistry and originality in an age of sheer artistry and originality was never more apparent and very rarely been equaled.
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Early to Mid-70’s music was a buffet table of non-stop creativity in every genre be it prog-rock, Motown, Funk/R&B, Fusion and even Top-40 pop with new guys Carole King , solo Beatles, Skynyrd, Elton John, Pink Floyd, Aerosmith, Zeppelin, Eagles etc doing some very interesting things. That is until disco came along and pissed in the KoolAid
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Springsteen got lucky , musically, when he got that big advance he talks about in the song Rosalita (Come Out Tonight) on this album spending the next 14 months on his next album dumbing down his style with inferior players and less inspired material for years to come- the PERFECT formula for pop rock mega-success. The resulting, “Born To Run” was the first album of his to get traction, hence destroying his mojo forever. A mediocre media darling was born.
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While not bad, Born To Run is the begining of the end for his relevance (IMHO) as a creator of unique art.
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But this album, WIESS, had something never heard before…. a combination of city slick cool and small town wacky experiences told by a keen-eyed wordsmyth backed by incredibly talented untested mutli-instrumentalist musicians overdubbing to make it sound like a much bigger band and studio. Springsteen’s voice was fresh and pure, with raw emotion and a story teller’s deft range and touch
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All of the songs showcase a different side of life in the NJ-NY city/suburbs in that time for a young impressionable singer
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The best two:
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David Sancious (went on to play with Stanley Clarke, Clapton, Peter Gabriel, Sting) played keys and sax and helped pen “E Street Shuffle” and at the end of that song there’s a clavinet / percussion / horn section / guitar part that defies description . It’s fast and furious and sets the tone for everything to follow with a wall of horns and solid drumming
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The masterpiece: “Kitty’s Back” combines a lyrical spin on a chick, Kitty (duh), leaving her beau for a city dude.
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The central theme is laid down with manic kick drum beats and fills from Vini “Mad Dog” Lopez and very complicated bass scales from Garry Tallent . Sancious lays down one of the coolest B-3 solos ever and almost all the players kick in to create a horn section. Springsteen even displays some flashy, funky rhythm guitar in the outchorus.
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This song has been attempted live by his current band but Max Weinberg couldn’t shine Lopez’ cymbals case and Nils Lofgren is a coffee house open mic guitarist at best.. …. With Clarence Clemons gone, there are no originals left … it’s a 14 minute crowd participation time filler
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Springsteen also replaced the guy that sewed the cacophany of events together, producer and manager Mike Appel, after this album. A commercial success ensued as we all know, but this cd will forever live in infamy as the one and ONLY true Springsteen masterpeice
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Give it a try:
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Catlong sighs, holdin’ Kitty’s black tooth
She left to marry some top cat, ain’t it the cold truth?
And there hasn’t been a tally since Sally left the alley
Since Sally left with Big Pretty, things have got pretty thin
It’s tight on this fence since them young dudes are musclin’ in
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Rest of the lyrics HERE
Wallnuts, I only read the first 47 pages of your post, but I already agree. That the first 47 pages are a good read. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, two-gal threesomes are a great way to not come before the gals. Be sure the gals are into each other; not so much they dont give a shit about you, but let ’em play, as the Chairman famously say!
^ Vin, I had this on in my car yesterday. Have loved it since its release. Many a (self styled) “hard core Springsteen fan” has given me quizzical looks when I mentioned it. Great fucking album. Agree with everything you wrote about it.
“I am the cat burglar!”
Nice write up Vin and I LOVES me some Stanley Clarke that man can flat out thump the Bass. If you have never heard this man play then get “School Days” it’s a must listen. Not to veer off topic regarding WIESS but Vin is spot on regarding “Early to Mid-70’s music was a buffet table of non-stop creativity” The Dead were at there peak from 71-74 & 77. Killer shows, great bootleg (authorized) and soundboard recordings of said shows and what stand today as some of their most recognized and beloved songs were penned during this period.
^What Vin said. And Et Tu I would welcome a let it ride until men’s swimming bet this summer as the Mooslem’s blow London apart from it’s weak ass wrists. Cause I’m not shipping Lenny’s Box across the border N’Mean.
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Carole Kings
I love it when DB1 gets dismissive about the human race. Though Prada bags for men would do that to almost anyone.
@Rev
Mens Olympic swimming it is.
@ Et Tu
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I’m finding that I like this just as much as I like the old standard so I’m kinda torn. I guess I’ll just have to do some more “taste testing” but it’ll be one of those for me. And for you?
You offered spitting? Like tobacco? Thanks but I can buy my own chew. And if I had sex with you there def would be a gag order ( on you, because in person I barely talk.) for before, during and after. And then definitely after after because I know how to hit it and quit it.
^yeah definetly a Stackhouse style ballgag is in order. No wonder your first marriage didn’t work out. Sheesh.
Actually even a basic analysis shows that the forward causal relationship is stronger than the reverse in the sequence Dreuche posts -> Tallguy posts. We are therefore left with one of two options:
1) Tallguy better approximates the stalker.
2) Dreuche is some sort of supernatural creature capable of not just going back in time so that her posts appear first but also editing Tallguy’s posts so that it appears that he was responding to posts that had not yet been posted.
Principle of parsimony says leave it alone, Tallguy. You two fell out. Big freaking deal. When more of your posts are trashing another poster here than mocking the ‘bags I think it is time to reflect on why you come to this site. I’d be forgiving if you were even a little bit funny or original with your insults but you sound more like one of the posts DB1 gets from people demanding their picture gets taken down than a reg.
@Scroteophobic, thanks dude. The whole reason I changed my name.awhile back was because tall guy was trolling me. I decided to go back when I thought he moved on to better things. Guess I was wrong. Anyway I have a feeling you may be shorter than tall guy, but believe me, you’re the bigger man.
Didn’t tall guy promise he was done posting? I suppose now I’ll have to withstand a semi-retarded diatribe about the perilous nature of statements on the Internet and how I just don’t get “things”. C’est la vie. I do get it though. I get very well the nature of some people.
@McCrudeshoes, there he goes again. You were so right. Well we’ve dealt with this before. I’m gonna round up my other 12 personalities and we’ll handle business like old times. Also for the record I don’t think you’re a cock smoker. But if you’re poor too bad for you because tall guy ain’t friends with no poor people. I on the other hand think poor people are cool.
Pradabag my ass, that’s a Louis Vuitton Prada bag, a double whammy. Mebbe even a fake LV. What’s worse, he’s using a brown bag with a black get-up, messing with the overall black and white theme of the pose. Truman Capote would have approved them for the post-modern version of his Black and White Ball, renamed “Bawl” for the obvious douchebaggery of the whole friggin’ predicament.
Wow. I propose a new area of the site. Hall of Stackhouse. In it we put all the crappest rants we get here. If TG can just get his spelling level down a few notches. maybe stop using capital letters then he’d be a shoe in.
TG – it comes down to this. Be funny or shut up. No one cares. No one missed you when you were gone. No comments went up saying “Oh, I really miss that whiny Aussie going on about banging his German”. And you know why that was? It was because you used this place for two things, mainly. Complaining about your love life, and later insulting Dreuche and anyone else bored of your cries for attention.
When you got called on this you threw a tantrum and left. When no one cared about this you came back, trying to be nastier than ever. Why did you come back? You are not here to mock the featured ‘bags. You are not funny or original enough to get away with mocking others on here. Deal with it and stop polluting the threads with your pathetic attempts at insults. (oh – you are fat and you are poor and you are lonely and….)
Really hope that you are not implying I am Dreuche. I pre-date her on here for one thing. Just been lurking more than posting.
I like turtles.
I have posted a few times as “Tall Guy, its Australian for Dueche, Mate” and I am not Dreuche. I lurk around here and have been following your antics. Dreuche isn’t stalking you, you are stalking her.
While I am quite tired of this whole tall guy – Nancy Dreuche diatribe, it appears to me that tall guy, in the end, actually scored with the German and is happily bonking away with her, for all he´s worth. The moniker “tall guy” has since been (mis)appropriated (although I have to say that the whole “give me dating advice via the Internet” phenomenon struck me as quite eery – from both sides, let it be said!) and abused in some horribly inappropriate way, given the mission of this site, which is highly commendable and thoroughly entertaining. Oh, and murses suck! P.S.: Denim pear for Hall of Pear! P.P.S.: If I´ve been had because Dreuche and guy are actually the same person, I´ll be more relieved than embarrassed.
And fin.