Thursday, December 5, 2013
Redneck Joe Scores Way Above His Paygrade
I’m inclined to give Redneck Joe a nottadouche and a goinpeace. Aside from tacky everything, just not enough ‘bag to convict.
As to Rural Becky, all is good in the milfy hinterlands of yore.
Then again, this post is autoposting, as my ass is probably 30,000 miles above Peoria as we speak.
Love that Dirty Water…
You can give Becky my number.
Wow DB1, if you’re 30,000 miles above Peoria, you’re 1/8th of the way to the Moon. THAT’S what I call bringing up baby right!
Yeah for sure. Becky looks a like a good time.
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She’s probably in this bar because she got lost lookin for Captain Stabbin
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AFYA
Wasn’t guy the homeless dude with the deep voice?
She was the second place prize in the Goodlands Fla annual fishing rodeo. First prize was a shiny new bass boat. Redneck Joe is very disappointed.
Most Unrelated Youtube Non-Sequitur of 2014: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hroUeu4IvpE&feature=player_embedded
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AFYA
At a truck stop off I-40 outside Little Rock, a Peterbilt is idling.
That Meth Skank gives me the renoBs.
You’re assuming ‘ole Redneck Joe has a pay grade…These types often get fired because they can’t make the Monday morning whistle due to a NASCAR Sunday hangover
Somewhere in West Virginia the family reunion is just getting started.
I get that phone call every day any more. Some guys offering me jobs in cities 200 miles away.
Somewhere in eastern Tennessee her three kids are home alone playing with matches inside their double-wide.
Somewhere in West Virginia he’s being told “YOU ARE THE FATHER! AND UNCLE! AND BROTHER! AND COUSIN!”
The island was a paradise.
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This was the first thought that came to her as she stepped from the mainland ferry onto the creaking wood pier that could have been thousands of years old from the decrepit yet somehow stately look of it. It was a pier to mark the end or beginning of legendary voyages that are always too fantastic to believe. It was a pier where old men and children fish with strings on bright afternoons.
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She hailed a leather-skinned old man in a battered taxi. She heard the ferry bell ring twice, then a third time. A gray gull came gliding with perfectly still wings directly toward her, but at an angle that permitted her to see only one of its eyes and that one eye looked like a stone that had been set into its head; the gull, its head cocked slightly, pulled up with a swift grace only a few feet from her and blew on indifferently past her, past the ferry, out
to sea.
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She had to call the old man four times before he heard her . Then he smiled, nodded, started the loud engine of his taxi and drove the less than ten yards between where she had been standing and where he had been parked.
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“I want to go to the Hotel – – -” she said.
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The old man grinned now as if he were vastly amused, but he did not move. He merely looked out to the open window at her with pleased yellow eyes that were wrapped in wrinkles.
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“I have some luggage”, she said.
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He shrugged and nodded and after a few moments during which he seemed to be almost asleep with the grin on his lips, he stepped from the taxi, loaded her four bags onto the rack on top, tied them with rope and a moment later, they were on their rattling way over the dirt road that led around the harbor and headed off towards the distant hill.
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From the taxi, Erica could see much of the town, built as if was in a crowded jumble of houses that seemed to have been piled one on top of the other .
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Houses along the curving harbor front were built up into slim, elegant tiers. There was a fountain whose three round basins held rain water and the droppings of gulls and pigeons who rested all day on its rims. Gray pushcarts and women in black and boys screaming in short pants and girls fondling the distant sight of patched sails with their dark eyes – all these were a feast of pink, black, yellow, red, green and umber along the narrow alleys and colonnades running between the houses. Bony cypresses behind the façade of the harbor. held in their shadows broken towers and part of a wall grown heavy with weeds and a thousand skins of decay.
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The old man drove as if he thought the taxi were competing at Rome’s ancient games. It bounced along high bumps and at each one he laughed proudly and slapped the wheel with one hand or the other. The machine was a live animal to him. Erica heard him muttering from time to time and what little she could make out, he was saying to the taxi, not to her. But the windows on both sides caught views of such open splendor, they took her breath away. Swallows and martins dipped and swerved over the empty fields. Yellow sickle- shaped eucalyptus leaves held the sun as if it had been caught in the palms of a hundred golden hands.
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She moved to the center of the seat to escape the sun just as the old man struck a gigantic bump that nearly made him cry from laughing so hard at his success of getting over it.
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Small fish flickered through the green shadows.
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I sat naked and gleaming on a great rock . My body wore the sunlight as a suit of armor. The sun burned brightly on my face, as if it had been caught in an urn of brass . I sat there with a hand full of cherries and watched my loving Erica come up the drive, caressed by the backdrop of the sea.
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Escaping the shroud of the taxi, Erica sucked in a deep breath, clasped her lips shut and somersaulted herself over the taxi’s hood. her bare ass catching an instant of the sun as she slid toward my awaiting manhood.
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She came to me…
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“It’s safe here”, I whispered, my eyes racing toward the rigid outline of her erect nipples.
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“What is?” she asked, her heart beginning to pound as she reached and grasped my throbbing penis firmly. Erica caught her breath and stared down at it. It was round and stiff and long and a lovely shade of rare pastel coral. “My goodness! What’s its name…?”
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“Rod”. Grinning impudence. Lip-licking assurance of my voluptuous man-powers to stun and disarm. “Do you like it?…Describe it…Love it out loud…I wanna hear you say it!”
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“Yes…” Her eyes reflective and caught…entranced by this flaring prong of flesh I had for her caress. “Yes, it should be talked about,” she said, “for there’s never enough publicity about them when they look like that. If only more men had the courage to unveil the really special adornments, such as yours, our failure to communicate and choose a proper mate would be greatly minimized…”.
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“…Yeah…Yeah…tell me more!”.
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“It’s so enormous…and nicely turned out..with such a valiant, lusty sweep to it…and…it’s so young-looking, as if it had just been born this very minute!”
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“Man…that’s the best character sketch anyone ever did of it…and they all flip over it right away, which is why I like to show it to ‘em real fast in case maybe they might faint. My big fat baby here has tamed the most difficult to satiate. On that I guarantee!”, I boasted, watching her grow wet between her legs, like a slobbering foal gumming a sugar cube. Shining pubescence…
~
I laid her down in the gravel…
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Mounting her tense body, I enticed her further: “For every suck I give on this baby, you match it with one down there on my baby…”
^ somewhere on the interweb, an long unemployed ex-writer for Hustler Magazine just got his groove back.
“hon, do you have a rig that can tow my 40ft trailer of crazy along with us?”
I just received a Fed-Ex self-sealing tube box. Inside, tucked discretely amidst a roll of vellum detailing the proposed expansion of of the South Mississippi Lunatic’s Asylum (aka: Architect’s Institute of America: Biloxi Chapter), was a small sandwich baggie filled with Percocet and Dilaudid.
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Needless to say, my weekend plans have taken a surprising turn for the better.
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Fuck you all and everything you love.
Ms. Lilly Christine, aka The Cat Girl; famed French Quarter stripper from the 40’s
Redneck Joe happens to have a couple of paid-for pickup trucks, 5 fish camps, a couple of stills, and is the local enforcer for the Dixie Mafia.
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Joe’s doing ok. And money attracts women like nothing else…
Lilly Christine’s cooch could snap the lid off a paint can
Lilly Christine’s Cooch could snap the lid ON a paint can.
Lilly Christine’s Cooch could kick. 69-yard field goal.
Lilly Christine’s Cooch can only deliver pencil-shaped babies
The dildo for Lilly Christine’s Cooch comes with a rubber mallet and a crow bar.
Lilly Christine’s Cooch has broken more fingers than Camaro doors.
Lilly Christine saws porcelain toilets in half when she pees.
Lilly Christine uses a surgeon’s scalpel as a speculum.
My lesbian hookers are stuck in traffic. They better be good looking cause 17 floors through annealed glass ain’t fun.
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Fuckeverything
Lilly Christine used 20 gauge sheet metal as a tampon.
Lilly Christine’s cooch could fill in for a pair of Canadian hookers in/with a pinch
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Kegels
Lilly Christine’s camel toe can fit through the eye of a needle.
Lilly Christine’s cooch can whistle the “Hey Hey Hey ” part of Blurred Lines
Lilly Christine’s cooch’s overhand curve struck out A-Rod in wiffle ball
Lilly Christine’s cooch can change tides with one tremendous queef
Lilly Christine can pick up a champagne cork and a small block V-8 with her labia.
Lilly Christine’s cooch can free-pull 17 Peterbilts up Lombard Street in San Francisco.
Lillie Christine’s lizard-tongue clit can snatch a dollar bill from a table in the lounge.
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Three rows back
Lillie Christine’s back up band was called “Flaring Prong Of Flesh.”
Lillie Christine can squat thrust a satellite dish.
Christine’s cooch sings operatic arias in the Ethiopian Eunuch’s Choir.
Lillie Christine was date-raped by a celery stalk.
Lilly Christine’s cooch was the world’s first credit card charge slip.
Lillie Christine once free-based a box of dish soap, with Bob Hope, backstage at a USO show.
Lilly Christine’s cooch is anti-apartheid.
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RIP Mandela.
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As Paris Hilton quipped, “your ‘I have a dream’ speech was truly inspiring.”
Lilly Christine’s cooch farts can keep a kite aloft for seven minutes in a vaccuum
Lilly Christine’s cooch righted the Costa Concordia
Lilly Christine’s cooch interviewed Db1 for a shitty Lezzie website owned by a really creepy dude
Lilly Christine lifts rods of depleted Uranium with her cooch.
Lilly Christine once decapitated a man by queefing in the 69 position.
Lilly Christine’s period flow looks like this…
http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/7049WVfSanM/maxresdefault.jpg
Lilly Christine’s cooch could beat Paris Hilton in a game of checkers.
Lilly Christine’s cooch knows who killed Kennedy.
Lilly Christine’s cooch KNEW John Kennedy.
Lilly Christine’s cooch can perform an exquisite rendition of Miles Davis’ “Blue in Green”
‘Sock, is that Erica Campbell in your story?
Lilly Christina’s cooch is alright with me. So is Jesus.
Lilly Christina’s cooch knows David Guest.
Lilly Christine’s cooch could saw through the bars of a prison cell on Robben Island. Too soon?
Lilly Christine shaves her cooch with an 800 lb concrete column, 40 ft of chain link fence, and a grain thresher.
You know, one day one of Lilly Christine’s great grandchildren will Google their famous forebear.
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And wind up here.
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Excellent.