Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Billy Bartleby Is Way Too Excited to Be Working Part Time as a D.J. In Sheboygan
Thought bubbles:
Billy: I hope Cheyenne is digging my sweet dyed faux. Hope she doesn’t think I’m losing my hair.
Cheyenne: WTF? Who dyes their hair and turns it into a faux when they’re going bald?
Suzanne: Are porcupines where they get porcelain from? If so, I’m totally throwing out my kitchen table.
Unchained Smellody
(Looks in mirror): One more button……. one more button ….. Fuck it, ONE button
Middle “hott” should keep this pic to remind her never to the duckface again unless she likes looking like George Burns.
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And it very clear to me that the only war this tool fought in was of the tug variety.
Who ordered the flambéed douchebag? His head looks like a freshly lit baked Alaska.
Billy is “that guy” at the bar who starts talking to you, no matter how well you avoid eye contact. The guy who talks at 120 decibels until your ears ring, and whose every word is accompanied by geysers of spittle like the fountain show at the Bellagio. He will tell you how this place is filled with talent, but you should have seen it last Friday. “That guy” has always seen something bigger and better that you have missed.
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Then he’ll say tonight it’s going to be like this… and he begins pantomiming lifting something over his head. It’s your job to guess his meaning. What? You’ll ask. Your an ice dancer? Billy won’t be put off though, and he’ll keep up the embarrassing game of charades until you agree that tonight he’ll raise the roof.
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Billy will then start shouting out random nitwitticisms to random hotts while you sit there paralyzed, looking like his specially abled wingman, until you can finally pay for your drink and slink off to a dim corner of the club hoping vainly that nobody thinks you are with Billy.
I’m all for red dresses, but doesn’t it seem like her hip bone is connected directly to her scapula?
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Dreuche- what’s the insinuation of a skin tight red dress wearer like this?
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“Please, fucking please someone come talk to me and take me home tonight”
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or
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“I want every mother fucker in this place to stare at me to make my boyfriend jealous. I’ll show him! But if they come talk to me, I’m going to be a raging bitch”
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Seems like it is always one or the other, no?
FWIW, I would last 7 seconds max with red dress on the right.
Snow White looking hottie is built like brick house, in that she’s a perfect rectangle.
Untz…Untz…Untz…Untz TOFU, BABY, IT’S THE FUTURE!!!! I’LL CALL YOU WITH A NUMBER MONDAY FOR AN ORDER WHEN THE COMDEX OPENS !!!…. Untz… Untz ….Untz YEAH, IT’S VARIABLE LIFE INSURANCE !!!! Untz… Untz … Untz…. YEAH ! IT’S A LATERAL LISP …SORRY ‘BOUT YOUR SHIRT, DUDE !!! Untz … Untz … Untz
Brunette Hott is thick and I bet her butt smells like fresh soap and lilac and forbidden sex.
Red dress girl is cute enough. Yeah, I’d hit it.
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And by hit it I mean flirt with briefly while both mostly inebriated at the bar, exchange numbers but never seal the deal as we both end up going home with separate people, later bump into again a JC Penny’s and decide to go out for coffee because we both have time, talk for a while and both half-disappointingly find that the other party is intimately involved with someone else they would almost cheat on but decide otherwise, strike up a friendship based on similar interests such as movies, classic sci-fi books, and visiting botanical gardens, a few years later find yourselves both single but too close of friends where you have the conversation about possibly getting together based on your waning mutual attraction towards one another but deciding your friendship is not worth losing, but then you move a couple hundred miles away to pursue new business opportunities where you meet a wonderful girl, get married, still stay in touch with red dress girl via Facebook and occasional meet up to have coffee at the botanical gardens when you’re in town visiting family, get divorced from the wonderful girl after 10 years of marriage because you realize you no longer have anything in common and have been together for the last 3 years solely for your child, Emily, and that’s really unfair to do for you both and your child, but then the custody battle drags on for years until your daughter Emily comes of age and resents you both and runs off with some slimeball who cooks meth and gets knocked up and has an abortion and in a fit of rage you disown her and soon after regret it but it’s too late, she never speaks to you again and you only hear about how she’s doing from her mother who you barely talk to anymore now that she got remarried to a mountain of a man that owns his own construction company, and then you lose all contact with them both when you move back to your home town to take care of your mother suffering from Alzheimer’s after dad dies, and while bored one day contact red dress girl to find out she’s still in town and you go out for tea because you can’t drink coffee anymore now that they induce panic attacks and heartburn for you, and you find out she’s recently divorced from her second marriage, and though she’s a little thicker around the middle after having three kids and her face is a little haggard while you are also slightly overweight and losing your hair you both still find each other attractive, partially based on the idealized vision you’ve held of each other over the years, and so finally decide to strike up a relationship, and it goes really well and you’re both the happiest you’ve been in a long time and decide that you were both meant for each other and get married even though you can’t have kids because she had a hysterectomy after complications from the birth of her third child, and you both move in to your parent’s old house after your brother decides he doesn’t want to sell it after moving mom to a nursing home because he’s fine as long as you pay all the property taxes and insurance on it, and you and red dress girl live happily ever after until one day while you’re cooking french toast for breakfast and red dress girl walks in wearing a bathrobe after taking a shower and asks if we have any maple syrup left and so you turn around and back hand her as hard as you can in the face, knocking her to the ground. That’s how I’d hit it.
It’s nice to see the Shamwow guy doing well, but this is one mess that can’t be cleaned up so easily.
^helluva punchline. veeeery niiiice.
@Jonezy, I wish I knew how to electronically high five for I would bestow you with one. Thank you for asking, that particular conundrum has vexed me for quite some time. For you see a women will typically wear red to attract the attention of a male suiter and to signal ovulation. The wearer of the dress clearly wants attention. That being said if she gets it from someone she is not into she may treat him poorly. So you are sorta right on both accounts. I look super blotchy in red so I rarely wear it, its allowed me to fly under the radar for many years thus avoiding confrontation entirely. As you all know I hate dealing with Stage 5 clingers.
There are only two things I can’t stand; people who judge other people based on appearance, and thick-torsoed women who wear too-tight dresses.
There are only two things I can’t stand; making snap judgments about a person’s character based on their hair color, and bottle blonde whores who make the kissy face when posing for pictures.
There are only two things I can’t stand; golf and eggs.
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Wait…that’s not how it works…
We don’t pee in your pool, so don’t crap in our oven?
Brunette Hott is thicker than Ol’ No. 7’s brow.
Brunette Hott is thicker than Bernard Edwards’ bass line in Chic’s “Good Times”, stolen by Queen’s bass player John Deacon for “Anther One Bites The Dust”.
Brunette Hott is thicker than a dehydrated goat’s ejaculate.
Brunette Hott is thicker than Sasha Grey’s butt plug.
Brunette Hott is thicker than a gorilla’s labia.
Samurai Scrote gargles with gorilla labia.
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WHAAAAAAAAAAT?
Billy missed his necessary daily dose of Ritalin, and it’s beginning to become rather apparent.
Brunette hott looks like a fire engine red rice and bean burrito.
Soon, Billy will need his harness and stylin’ helmet.
No one has noticed Pam Anderson. She’s wearing a red bra, that’s gotta count for something.
Is that the smarmy kid from the Detroit spin off of Pawn Stars?
“…THE ARISTOCRATS!!!!”
Urgh,my photo app on my cell phone punches people like this out.
I like brunette hot in red dress. I’d hit that too. Except by “hit” I mean “come up to talk to her with the sole motive of conversation beig how can I rub my hands along that supple dress and flesh as soon as possible without parting or change of venue.” To which the usual answer is she wants me to come to her church with her boyfriend.