Party Guy Says, "Hey, lets Party!"
But you detect a faint tremor in Party Guy’s voice when he asks you to Party.
A tinge of existential crisis.
For deep down in the recesses of Party Guy’s soul, when late at night the thumping Skrillex dubstep is a fading echo in Party Guy’s ears, Party Guy weeps for the career in business administration at DeVry he never pursued. And Party Guy sighs. For a life unfulfilled is a life wasted. Party Guy read that on a Fortune Cookie at Wong Chow’s once.
Sonja’s boobs, however, completely and utterly fulfilled their destiny.
Greybeard Sins Against Nature
Not in this pic, although mugging Kelly is certainly a crime. I’m referring to last night. Greybeard’s crime against nature involved two ferrets, a frying pan, a a bag of chicken feathers, sixteen towels, a large can of WD-40, and a half dozen chocolate Easter eggs.
Kelly walked in on it and now they’re seeing Dr. Finstenberger twice a week, rather than once.
Bath Salts Hugh Jackman Says…
“Oi, mate! I don’t know where I is! I’m Wolverine! You like my Sheila? She came with the Sony gift bag after a private taste-makers screening of ‘Magic Mike’! Ain’t life grand?”
Marty Seyz…
“I like to look at champagne more than boobs!”
Marty is very literal in expressing his effusiveness.
Esoteric Wednesday
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Octomom Meets the Loompadouche **1/2
Another tame film in the “Octomom” series, this half-baked 1953 snoozefest never brings the charm of the first in the series, “Octomom and the Stupid and Easily Gullible Reality Television Audience.” This entrant in the Octomom series tells the continuing story of the former reality television star, this time forced to do sleazy pornography and hang around with man-tanning orangoid muscle-building mutant douchebags in a last ditch attempt to cling to fame. The film’s political critique of Eisenhower-era nuclear anxiety is deft, and a comic sequence involing hair brushes, an out of control vacuum cleaner, and a vat of crisco, was quite suspenseful. But otherwise, a film to be avoided.
– Leonard Maltin, “1001 Movies About Octomoms and Douchebags” (Knopf Publishing, 2002)
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Swamps of Boatbaggery Cascading Onto Shore
Environmentalists tell us our seas are repositories for swirling underwater garbage piles. Craptastic slush mounds of plastic waste and deadness.
And then there is above the water boatbaggery. Matching t-shirted frattools fondling the suckle thigh. Like human aglae fungusing the hopes and dreams of our poets and artisans.
The human equivalent.
All that can save us is Boatpear.
The Foreheadsman of the Apocalypse
Forehead studs for the societal loss.
Rachel’s doe eyes tell her father, uncle, and uncaring grandfather that she is never coming back to Omaha again.
Because, as Shakespeare once wrote, how can you go home to the farm after Carl Hungus?
Site Lugubriousosity
Like a greasy Cantabrigian bartender, the site hath bumped along the past week during massive rebuilding of its patchwork post-Lando Millennium Falcon engine. So bear with, and apologies.
It should hopefully be running better now, but if you’re running into major lag-time, drop me a line and let me know what browser and other problems you’re seeing.
In the meantime, boobs.
Lime Johnson Says "Spike!"
The Leah Sisters, representing 70% of the under-25 indigenous female population in greater Ft. Lauderdale, giggle, pout, and go to Sizzler for lunch.
EDIT: There was a bug in the new spam filter that was deleting tons of comments, apologies for that. It should be fixed, give it a whirl, and drop an email to your humble narrator if problems persist.
