Oh yes, Airman. You’ve really got me there. I’m absolutely floored. Let me just go home and set all of my Rammstein CDs on fire, including Sehnsucht, which features the song DU HAST, THE NUMBER ONE GERMAN EXPORT SINGLE TO THE UNITED STATES, surpassing both the Scorpions and your favorite masturbation idol, Nena and her god damn cunt crammed full of luftballoons.
Yeah! The SCORPIONS man, they ROCK ME LIKE A FUCKING HURRICANE. Thank god I’ve got this mullet haircut so I can properly bang my head while I listen to their ONE song.
And what’s next are you going tell me that you think Rammstein are facists? Gay? Pedophiles? Necrophiles? Pyromaniacs? Psychotic? A German Ministry Rip Off? UNABLE TO SING? or even worse…DERIVATIVE?
Never heard that before. You’ve really got me crying over here…oh no, I’m sorry, that’s Klaus Meine weeping for a lost career.
Do me a favor, go hang out with Tygr and whack off to Eric Idle for another fifty years. The rest of us will be waiting for you in the 21st century.
So? Don’t hold your glass up like the frelling waiter is gonna come and bring you some. Drag your fat, lazy butt out to the fridge and get it yourself. You know? the fridge? that big white thing you stick your pointy little head into for 2 hours every night and whine “I’m Hunnnngggrrry, there’s nothing to eeaaatttt” after I just get through spending $200.00 frelling dollars on food. Why don’t you buy some groceries for a change.
Better yet, why don’t you get a job and move the Hell out?
You parasite!
What do you mean by “get a job”?!?!? We both know that’s just a dodge. What you really want to say is “Why can’t we have sex like they did on that TV show?” or “Why don’t you strip for me and dance like my last girlfriend did?” or “Why do you get all pissed off when I suggest a foursome?”
Get a job, my ass. I’ll tell you about get a job. Nobody cares about what your needs are, least of all me. The car needs an oil change and the cat has been stalking the neighbor’s dog and all you care about is your own lust. Well bite my big toe. I’m going to the mall.
The mall. Typical. Is that what you do to avoid your problems? Your responsibilities? Sure, the minute things get tough you’re off to the mall, spending all MY hard earned money. I don’t live to support you and your shopping habit, you know. Most of the stuff you buy is CRAP anyway! Who needs 3 Furbees? They are so 2 years ago. That velvet Elvis was so ugly, I burned it! Yes, I burned it. See, you didn’t even miss it.
I’m gonna go turn in some film that has Dopapalooza pictures on it.
The Mall! You’re at that damned mall every freakin day! I suppose you’re gonna buy some more teeny-bopper clothes to make yourself look even more like a 2 dollar hooker. You’re a grown woman fer chrissake! You’re never gonna look like Britney Spears anyway, especially with that belly.
Oh well golly. Isn’t it great that you were at Dopapalooza doing beer bongs with, I don’t know, Milossarian while the rest of us low life cockpurses had to sit home and count our pubes? Did it ever ONCE occur to you that I was out having JUST as much fun as you on THAT very night, and that even though I’m married and have a back problem I can still rock n roll all night and party every day? I doubt it.
Bad? You know what’s gone bad? German music since Kraftwerk. Rammstein’s not fit to be rambutted or to squick them.
<timeout>
::ducks keg thrown at him by jarbaby::
</timein>
And speaking of butts, Kerry Wood’s is ugly. Bad? The Cubs have it to an art form, but waddaya expect when the park is overrun with a parasitical plant. How bad have they been? I think the ** BOSTON RED SOX ** won 4 world series since they’ve won. The reason they sell so much beer in the bleachers is to numb the pain of watching the sCrUBS. Some of those guys throwing back balls have better arms than the staff. They’re the SDMB server of baseball.
Looks like rain.
[sub] and I better not ever go back to Chicago after that one…really, nothing personal…[/sub]
Of course you need another beer. The first thirty obviously didn’t take. What, you don’t think your mother and I haven’t spent enough time worrying about how much of a slack bastard you’ve become, turning thirty-five and still insisting on living in the basement, forcing us to fall asleep to the sound of you slapping your own flesh?
Is that how we raised you? To have no compassion for your poor mother, who you know can’t find work since nobody is hiring someone with a Fucking Theatre degree, except the porn producers, and they all say they don’t NEED another DV/DA willing to take on six-hundred guys, 87 sheep and half-a-dozen quarterhorses. Not since she caught clap, crabs AND the drip from some candy-ass Kraut band front-man who could do with a decent back-shaving, but still needs to over-compensate for his short-comings by wearing a styrofoam-filled pewter codpiece. I know he must have been pretty desperate if she was his only groupie, but then again, since everybody in town said “Who?” when they announced they were putting on a concert in the parking lot at Wal-mart and then they had to drop their ticket prices to free when everybody found out they were yet another ABBA knock-off I guess the guy had to take it where he could get it.
Oh Tygr. Can I borrow that crayon when you’re done coloring your face green with it? There’s a song by Rammstein called Eifersucht…look into it…Translation? JEALOUSY. Burns ya up, doesn’t it? That a man can be red hot sexy, an olympic athlete AND a rock star, eh? Puts you right out of fucking contention in the list of viable sperm donors. So sit at home and diddle with your little 1/2 inch pud, wishing you had a dick that could arguably be considered the CENTERPIECE of a North American tour and cry into your Monty Python Collectible Burger King glasses (50 cents with the purchase of a burger bundle) that you’ll never come close to being as manly as the big toe of Till Lindemann.
Du verdammter Arschgeige*! Can’t I go one fucking day without another reference to your skinklicking pubes?!?!?!?
It’s bad enough you sit there and taunt us red blooded Doperguys with your titillating tales of vegas debauchery, your irrational fear of anal sex and your love of hot sweaty welders, now we have to be subjected to descriptions of your hoohaa that make it nigh impossible to get any productive work done whatsoever!!!
And you have so much roast beef that you can just let it rot? Jesus H. Christ on a stick, you don’t give up do you?
lit. “assfiddle” it is a genuine German insult and seems sooooooooo appropriate for our own InsultMeisterin;)
/hijack/
Is it just me or does that lead singer bear a passing resemblance (at least in that picture) to Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers?
/hijack/
Oh and that “last line” bullshit? Lick my stubbly ballsack!
I’ll make my insults where and how I choose and none of you Schnoodle saufen Arschgeigen can tell me different!
Sure Bunny, just hijack the thread. Like there isn’t enough tripe and drivel here, you have to go and throw out random, meaningless comments. <sheesh> Why don’t you just go on vacation again and give us a break from your spouting.
I’ll just bet, thinksnow. I’m sure you just can’t wait to get into your Oscar Wilde frock coat, throw some Liberace into the car stereo and then go meet your friends for a midnight showing of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
Harvey Fierstein called, thinksnow. He wants you to give him back his stereotype.
shoot I hope I can remember. I gave one to Father Pacelli for his wonderful display of F.O.T.H. in the “Do Your Progressive Parenting At Home” thread, where in Euty called him ‘son’ and all of the sudden Pacelli was a raging, seething demon…
I gave another one to someone in ATMB who went CRAZY about ‘animated smilies’ on a star trek board, and claimed some giant mod conspiracy to keep us from having animated smilies.
the third was in ATMB as well, I think, but I can’t remember.
BWAAAAHAAAHAAAA! Fiver, that is priceless? Having met think, I can tell you how utterly freaky it is trying to make that description fit him, especially since I just got done watching bits of “Wilde” on Bravo last weekend (the one with Geoffrey Rush??? and Jude Law). I’m just glad I wasn’t eating when I read it. :wiping away tears:
Anyway, yeah, well, if you’d keep your clothes on and stop running around like some sky-clad Pagan, you wouldn’t be getting poison ivy in those uncomfortable places. And maybe it’s not poison ivy at all; maybe it’s just an excuse for you to scratch at your crotch, you pocket-pool playing Pagan wannabe. And put some calamine on your “poison ivy” before it gets all pustulent. Actually, you’d probably like that so you could go find some female doc, right out of med school, to handle that petite little weiner of yours. You are PATHETIC! Got that? PATHETIC!
Oh, spank me with a bumbershoot, if this is just gonna degenerate into a synchronized twat-twiddling over a couple of third-rate tone-deaf rock-god wannabees you’ll just have to excuse me. Honestly, his name’s “Till”? What, was “Weed” or “Hoe” taken? And great picture there - looks like Richard Belzer taking a shit.
And really, “You’re just jealous!”? Is that REALLY the best comeback you could work up? Well, I’m sure as hell glad I wasn’t opposite you in the last month’s third-grade debate competitions! I guess the only dart left in your devastating quiver of wit is “Oh, yeah? Well you’re just a stoopid doody-head booger-face!” I’ve NO idea how I’ll manage to reply to THAT devastating rejoinder.
Doesn’t surprise me that yer out of Sweet tarts. I’m sure you’re wondering why they don’t provide the same tingling sensation that Pop-rocks do when you jam them up your hoo-ha.
