And you are a hairy fishnut.
Pear pimples?
Ah. Well, I see that all the time you’ve spent in bus station men’s rooms has paid off!
An infinite number of rednecks in an infinite number of pickup trucks shooting an infinite number of shotguns at an infinite number of road signs will eventually produce all the world’s great works of literature in Braille.
I find it ironic that it would be the three of us who understood these references.
And by the same token, Buffalo couldn’t score in this manner, either. Pipe the fuck down.
How the fuck else do you think she’d get all those numbers up there? What, you think those “Call DB for a good time” graffiti write themselves on the stall walls?
Tell that fur-tradin’ girlfriend of yours to get 'em out of the teapot first, dear.
Mom?
Yeah, and now that you’ve reminded me, your dad says hi.
I’ll accept this statement, seeing as it comes from someone who has even more experience with not scoring.
And I’ll accept that statement from someone who’s been scored on more often than Buffalo’s defense.
Hey, you’re saying good things about my team AND me! When the hell did you lose your edge, you panty-waisted cream puff? Why don’t you and Chef Troy get together and share recipes, and leave the flaming to the experts? I bet some of the people from that School for the Retarded that you troll for dates gave you the idea for that witty retort, right?
Apparently, at 9:43 AM this morning.
Why don’t you and your boyfriend get together and decide who’s going to wear the dick in the relationship?
Yeah, and they wondered where you were for Fingerpainting this morning. Twitchy Bobby made you a Valentine.
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I see that new job in the Department of Repetitive Redundancy is going well for you.
They say two heads are better than none…
Which is one more than you’ll be getting.
So, that strap-on collection’s growing? Fancy that.
Yeah. Seems Buffalo’s offense was supposed to deliver mine, but someone put an endzone in front of my mailbox.
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I’ll make sure to send you any extras I have, so you can play dress-up and pretend to be like all the other little boys.
Flyp, honey, how many times do I have to tell you? Just because you send all those love letters to Thurman Thomas, it doesn’t mean he loves you back!
Did any of you boys lose this?
…because Polycarp just found it up his ass.
Actually, Poly, send it to Drain. I believe that’s the attachment to her new Gerdildo. Probably fell off a few weekends back.
Dearie, you simply must take better care of your toys…
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Gerdildo? Flypsyde, only you would be so damned clueless as to invent a fake sex toy that sounds like a fucking talk show host! No wonder you never get laid!
I don’t get laid because I’m a nice guy.
Actually, I don’t get laid because your crazy, naked ass keeps parading around in front of my building with a spatula and a tub of Vaseline. Fuck, we don’t even have any alleycats around the neighborhood anymore…
Dude, that’s not me, that’s Chef Troy! Don’t you notice that little micropenis peeking out from his pubes? Hell, I don’t even own a spatula.
But knowing our dear Chef, that’s certainly not Vaseline. And the alleycats are gone because he made meatloaf last night.
My mistake. But given the striking similarities between yourself and our culinary czar, you must admit it’s an honest mistake.
Oh, and MarkSerlin emailed me-he’s got your panties, and he says go heavy on the AquaNet and Jovan.
You lucky girl, you.
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Oh, c’mon. Troy’s tits are MUCH bigger than mine.
Yeah, and last I checked Ebay, you were currently the highest bidder for them.
I accidentally wore them when I visited Troy’s kitchen. Hint–never go near his crawfish etouffee.