Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Average Vaguely Orange Guy
We haven’t seen a lot of orangebaggery since the skin-burning over-tanning douche vortex of the late 2000s.
Theo here isn’t even really that orange. Hell, he doesn’t remotely approach the Peak Orangeness that we have witnessed and now enshrine in our Closet of Poo.
In fact, I’m not sure why I’m even bringing Orangebaggery up.
Tell me Sweet Jenny Sucklethigh, do I mock for naught?
Can I fondle a booble proddle?
Or would that be inappropriate given our professional relationship as co-chairs of the Sheboygan Chess-for-Charity team?
Yup. No idea what I’m saying. Time for coffee.
Just ignore the text.
I thought they were a bit clean cut. Note the area code on the sign, 416 belongs to:
Toronto (includes Black Creek Village, Etobicoke, Scarborough, York)
Orange Guy’s shirt says stuff I sometimes think to myself, but don’t mention to anybody. Unless it could get me laid.
Orangebaggery, like the Mullet, never will die, but will hibernate from time-to-time.
His knuckles are scarred from dragging, skin scarred from tanning booth, face scarred from acne
.
Her parents scarred from this photo
.
Bartender scarred from no tip, not understanding AVOG’s broken French, attempt at converting US currency to ‘Nuck
.
Golden Magical Butterfly pisses on them both
looks like this tool wears gloves in tanning booth
Good call Olddog1. Toronto douchebaggery.
The Millennium Bag was always my fave in the Orangest of Orange…everything about that twatwaffle was special.
If you ever run out of visual assault aids for the site, a visit to the vault for the Millennium Bag would might be a welcome redux.