Thursday, February 7, 2013
Caption This Pic
After Angie, Roberta, and Zach passed their third hour in the tub, the scented patchouli oil began to smell more and more like rancid fishmeat. Which was okay by Zach. For, coincedentally, rancid fishmeat was both the smell of his basement apartment at his mom’s house, and also the nickname he had for his facial pubes.
Zach is stunned when he realizes his three-year winning streak in wet T-shirt contests is about to end.
A nice evening in the hot tub took a turn for the awkward, when Zach shouted out “hey! Who wants to see me dip my chin in the hot tub filter?” Neither Angie or Roberta thought this was a particularly good idea, but that didn’t stop Zach.
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In the filter was a frothy mix of pubes, dirt, specs of diarreah, and chlorine bubbles. This did not stop Zach. He was not one to back down from a dare, even when no one dared him. “Whadda ya think ladies,” as he turned round with a pube-shit beard. “Pretty sexy, huh?”
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The girls in utter disgust moved to the opposite side, while Zach laughed and took a swig of his beer, letting it drizzle down his chin, carrying some of the pube-shit into the water. The girls were skived and got out of the hot tub, while Zach laughed hysterically, revelling in his unabashed filth.
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It was all fun and good for Zach until he got out of the tub and tried to wash it off. The chlorine had reacted badly with the zit cream and pheromone cologne, already on his face. lt had caused a severe rash to form, which had absorbed some of the pubes to get stuck, and form boils. The diarreah was washable, but the burning rash had already absorbed enough of the shit particles and the smell would not go away.
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For the next month, everywhere that Zach went, people would ask him “Hey Zach, why is your bright red chin covered in pus pubes, and smells like shit?” All he could say was “I was dared.” But that was a lie.
Since getting on Facebook years ago, Angie’s mother had grown accustomed to seeing her daughter post pictures like this one. With a putter of experience-ridden jealousy, she apathetically clicked through the album and muttered, “Gravity is not your friend, sweetheart. Cocksneezes like Zach there may like your Mustang Sallies now but they are just fat boobs and if I were you I’d drop the weight from your ass and your chest before Zach “forgets” to pull out and becomes a photocopy of the mistake I made when I marries your father.”
*married
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consarnit…
Less a caption and more of an observation, but Angie is giving off some serious “do me” vibes in this pic:
* Mayan Eye of Coitus? Check.
* Presence in hot tub? Check.
* Jet of said hot tub stimulating her nether regions? Check.
* Cheap alcohol fueling bad decisions? Check.
* Wonderfully exposed cleavage that will surely lead to a number of “flotation device” jokes? Check.
And somehow, even with all that going for him, this is as close as Zach is gonna get. He’ll be lucky to brush some sideboob with Angie’s semi-retarded, snaggletoothed friend Roberta, and later talk his way out of a date rape charge.
I’d bang Angie’s semi-retarded, snaggletoothed friend Roberta. This scene could be anywhere from upstate New York possibly southern Ontario to a Motel 6 on the outskirts of Cleveland or possibly Angie’s parents place on the PA WV border not far from Morgantown. It reeks of sloppiness and despair.
This might be from an audition tape for one of the networks trotting out another pile of “Hillbilly/Country/” culture in the guise of programming.
Best hundred dollars I ever spent. Don’t drink the water.
i notice Nancy has been impeached from the Hall of Mock. Bag Margera putting in a good effort to replace her. I hate sobriety. Son.
Rev, I sure miss your stoned posts! I was quite proud that I could understand them 🙂
I second your comments about Marge.
The odor of rancid fishmeat would not stop me from bringing these gals some more of that godawful Smirnoff. They’d also get a dollop of my Smear’n’off, which ironically is the same color.
This guy came in a horse at least once…
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http://www.thesmokinggun.com/buster/horseman-baby-687431
In case you don’t click on the link…
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“I was trying to make the horse have a baby,” Mendoza explained. “I was thinking it would have a horseman baby.” He added, “I ain’t going to lie, I blew a nut in the horse. I then got off the bucket and put my clothes back on and left. I promise that I have not been back over to the horse since that time.”
She is like Clay Wankin’s Hott’s angry, uglier twin.
As I become more sober, the more I want to dress like a woman. And I’m really looking forward to the 18th of February so I can go full-bore drunk and stoned once these tests are done. Only NyQuil, very low alcohol beer, and Clonazepam in low doses are getting me through. Fucking DMV measuring my liver enzymes and the size of my red blood cells and fucking full urine toxicology screens. No doobs. No ASA/codeine pills. Fuck I’m an asshole. fucking throat swabs.
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But I have to drive nows that I’m working again so I’m gonna get through it with my new ladies underware so i can be The Man. Bam Margera knows what I’m talking about. Fucking lefties rules must be changed. We’re free men on the land. Fuck the high taxes here. Gotta get a map just to go through your fucking tax returns. Fuck the Queen and the separatist fops. Man.
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Son
If you push his beard up to his forehead, it looks like it would fit neatly up into his receeding hairline.
Baby Belugas.
Keystone and Smirnoff Ice, son? bleach ’em, bleach ’em all and let the Alpaca Overlord sort them out.
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Tho in truth, blondie probably has so much bleach in her hair it won’t matter.
The Dude 6:47,
Don’t worry about The Rev. He may be temporarily playing the societal game, but I have faith he will rise up above The Machine’s stifling oppression and return to his former glory.
“I don’t always drink Keystone Ice, but when I do, it’s when I’m in an under-chlorinated hot tub hitting on my sister’s friends.”
The missing Seurat.
Rev, its called Truckers Choice. Helped my friend beat a military drug test.
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Padré
This looks like a fun night back in my college years: The girls from the Kinney’s Shoe store, a friend’s passcode to his apartment complex’s hot tub, I’m caught up on my shots, and having just overcome my fear of contracting ringworms in a public setting, settle in to a few hours of stewing in fetid water. Later, it leads to rubbing one out alone in the bathroom, thinking that with a few more Zima’s and I could have had both of them topless and crawling on me if I’d only had money for a few more Zimas. And the security guard hired by the apartments to keep non-residents from defiling their facilities caught us.
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Good times.
Local man returns home to find intruders making herpes tea in his hot tub.
Floaters.