Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Flock of Wristgulls
Shane learned quickly that nothing seduced the hotties of Mobile, Alabama, quite like tighty whitey armdanas.
Shane learned quickly that nothing seduced the hotties of Mobile, Alabama, quite like tighty whitey armdanas.
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He is standard issue douche as much as she is standard issue bottle blond.
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.Neither of them offends me that much.
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.True fact: Women who look like Bottle Blondie are terrible in the sack.
That does look like a Southern Fried Hottie. The kind where when you start getting frisky hands she says “Kuh-Whee-Yutt it!”! Tee hee hee! (Yankee translation: “Quit it…arf arf arf”)
….you could look it up.
Roger that, Choad. They think that because they’ve achieved blonde-dom that they’ve shot up to a 9.8 and therefore are not required to try.
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Dishwater brunettes on the other hand will clamp your gash mallet in their lamprey-like meat vise and pound you like the desperate yogurt vampires they are.
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I’ll be in my bunk. and by bunk I mean ‘bation station. by which I mean the executive washroom, corner stall.
No need to be nosey I suppose, but I know I would not say no to her nose if she asked if I would.
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So I would take Bama Hott’s VW Golf’s glove box out for an evening stroll on the beach where we’d yodel hosannas from the basement of hell in Flemish, dabble with the incoming tide and portion forth our lusty exuberance with wounded pelicans. Her glove box would cuddle my besotted frame as I expounded on the single set of footprints behind us being Sämuræ S¢rōté’ş heavenly handiwork, blessed by the Jon Hamm’s penis. The two of us twined would picnic uponst fine Egyptian linens lifted from the local Bed Bath & Beyond®; myself, imbibing a bevy of Ralph’s® premium deli meats; the glove box, picking away at a garden salad, looking wistfully to the waning western sun. After returned the glove box to Bama Hott’s car, we’d exchange butterfly kisses and digits knowing neither of us would sext the other, but instead glean from the memories into our elder, post-apocalyptic years as we awaited the coming of Tan.
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And shit.
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Antwerps.
Alabama’s mom was that female cop on Hill Street Blues.
True Story.
Smell The Glove(box)
Crucial:
@Darksock,
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Where have I been?
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Oh, the usual losing a wife, kids, house, ’49 Ford and my prized box of vintage ’08 Franzia Merlot to a bloated, tremoring judge with a hankering for hammering architects into hopeless heaps of porch beef.
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And burying my grandmother, grandfather, aunt and disposable income in the dust from whence they came.
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How about you?
I would say cheers! but the very words will set off my blood test later this evening before attending mandatory outpatient rehab to rid me of an unfortunate… ehhh… appetite for elephant killing opioids.
Yeah…..there’s been a Crucial Head sighting!
Crucial Head is crucial to the struggle! Next chapter on the way, one hopes. ~One~ being The Dude.
If I had a photograph of poo.
Crucial Head sightings are to HCwDB.com as Stackhouse is to proof reading, rare and welcome. Stick around a bit C. Head, please?
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Statisticsbrain.com has some tattoo numbers regarding number of them, decision factors, age of recipients and regret
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Best part:
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How People Feel About Their Tattoo
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Total percentage of people with tattoos who say their tattoo makes them feel rebellious- 29 %
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Percentage of people with a tattoo that say it makes them feel more sexy- 31 %
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Percentage of people with tattoos who say their tattoo makes them feel more intelligent- 5 %
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How does that other 95% feel, eh?
Another reason NASCAR is awesome Dept:
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Pastor Joe Nelms’ pre-race prayer: “In Jesus’ name, Boggity boogity boogity, Amen”
Shane should try rohipnol in the gumbo & humming ‘boogie on reggae woman’…them drawers will fall like math test scores at Van Nuys HS!
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rtn of Croosh is a coup!
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gator bators
Crucial:
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How have I been?
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Oh, the usual – losing a wife (2nd divorce, same wife…), kids, house, 01 Ford Mustang and my prized box of vintage Xbox games to a bloated, tremoring judge with a hankering for hammering architects into hopeless heaps of porch beef.
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You know the drill.
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Oh, by the way, FUCK ARCHITECTURE. I’d just as soon work in an abattoir tearing gristle off of nearly skeletonized cattle to gather grist for the pressing of sinew, nerve spindles, hoof splinters and bovine asshole tissue into fat-sweating cakes of porch beef patties for immediate consumption by public school children. Either profession is barely one notch above being in charge of hand-jobs at an Indiana truck stop.
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Drafters.
…skeletonized cattle sinew & nerve spindles are tools of my trade, son…& shit
Don’t knock being in charge of hand-jobs at an Indiana truck stop. You meet some of the nicest people.
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Nice to read ya, Crucial. You’re as rare a sight as a boner in the Scrotatohead compound these days. sucks getting old.
The regs are getting older and less reliable but the hotts stay the same age.
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Grandchildren.
AND I SHAT, I SHat so far away
that’s sad to hear, Crucial + DarkSock.
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but look on the bright side. at least you’re not a 28 year old virgin like me.
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hang in there.
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i’ll go back into hiding now.
Allow me to publicly take a controversial stand.
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I believe strongly in marriage equality for the gays.
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They deserve to be as absolutely fucking miserable as the rest of us.
Steve L. steps out of the Vancouver fog to let us know he isn’t dead. Strange days.
@DarkSock, It’s like the gay community doesn’t know or care how good they’ve got it. No expectations for a lasting commitment and a built in “out” to every relationship. I suppose to them the grass is truly greener in their neighbor’s backdoor.
I’m gay for girl butthole.
Plungers.
Rifftype…
I saw this really good post yesterday….