I’m sorry, Tygr (the manliest of names, no? :rolleyes: ), was somebody talking to you?
Oh no, I’m sorry, that’s right, we were ignoring you, perfectly happy in our own little world, discussing sexy, virile men that could satisfy our sexual needs. Is Tygr on that guest list? Let me check. No.
So Can you drag your pasty white ass out of this private conversation or must you stick your dick into everyone’s milkshake before leaving the picnic?
And by the by, your constant references to what I am or am not shoving into my snatch indicates some sort of disgusting fixation that I really don’t want any part of, as I’m sure you’re just sitting in some musty, blacklit basement, listening to scratchy Danzig records while beating off to old Full House reruns, which would be fine except that you get off on the rugged good looks of Bob Saget.
[sub]man, I love this thread. Many guffaws throughout the day[/sub]
No lunch. Probably a good thing. All day, all I hear is “Oh, I need to lose 5 lbs”, blah, blah, blah. Well how 'bout getting some other kind of exercise other than the kind with your dildo, eh? I mean, http://www.sextoys.com has you on an open order system: 1 every two weeks. You keep wearing the surface off those things. And Rammstein? Please, you can’t fool us anymore. We know you’re using it as a cover for your Bob Barker fixation. I mean, the restraining order and story in the Star wasn’t exactly a secret was it? Plus, I mean, do you think you can hide forever that big Price is Right sign you stole off the set? Remember? The time the security guards had to cuff and gag you 'cause you wouldn’t let go of Bob’s leg, screaming, “Do me, you hot grey hunk!”. You need help. Really. Call a therapist.
LOOK, GODDAMNIT, THE THERAPIST WASN’T DOING ANY GOOD ANYWAY AND BESIDES HE’S MUCH HAPPIER NOW THAT HE’S SITTING IN THIRTY-EIGHT LITLE CANS UNDER MY HOUSE SO WHAT DO YOU REALLY KNOW ABOUT IT ANYWAY YOU’RE JUST A MINCING LITTLE PRICK-TEASE ALMOST AS BAD AT IT AS MISS TILL-GROUPIE WHO ANYWAY SHOULD REALLY SKIP LUNCH ALTOGETHER SINCE FOUR LARGE CHEESE PIZZAS AND THREE CARTONS OF HO-HOS WILL ONLY FURTHER EXPAND HER POCK-MARKED HIPS TO THE POINT THAT NO GUY WILL EVER BE FIXATED ON THE FESTERING DISEASE OF A PUSBAG DRIPPING BETWEEN HER LEGS LEAST OF ALL ME AND ANYWAY LOOKING AT THE LIST OF LOSERS SHE’S COME UP WITH AS FUCK DREAMS IF ONLY THEY’D DIE SO SHE’D HAVE A DECENT SHOT AT COAXING THEM INTO A BACK ALLEY WITH HER WHY IN GOD’S NAME WOULD I WANT TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THAT SAD ARRAY OF HAS-BEENS AND NEVER-SHOULD-HAVE-BEENS.
Fuck you and your therapist "give me a magic pill to make the pain go away, oh it hurts, it hurts . . . "! In my day we were GLAD to have some pain in our lives—it reminded us we were alive! Some days we didn’t have enough pain, so we’d play catch with ginsu knives. And if that didn’t do the trick we’d go swimming in the oven.
You and your goddamn pansy-ass society. Fucking commies.
Now I have to go pick up my little sister from the mall. In my Suburban this time.
You have the gall to complain about the quality of woman willing to sleep with you? Let me tell you, there are chat rooms just full of men who are dying to get any at all. Literally dying, man, their blue balls have exploded on them, and there’s no surviving that sort of trama! Here you are lording over these poor guys that some chick is willing to lie down for you, and you complain about her not being good enough! Have you no sense of tact? For christ’s sake man, why don’t you go taunt a legless man by blatently tap dancing in front of him?? That’s pretty low! And who the hell are YOU to be judging her? You’re no fucking prize yourself. And, for your information, I used to own a duck named Pete.
Who in their right freaking mind owns a duck, much less names them? And of all the names in the world, “Pete” was the big winner? You have the imagination of a pea. I hope you were at least smart enough to get a decent meal out of his water soaked carcass, but I’m sure you weren’t. If your IQ was a point lower you’d be a plant!
Time to take the dogs out.
So it was YOUwho let those damn dogs out! Thanks, bitch, now I have to listen to some half-wit no-talent teenage punk ask the same fucking question over and over. You could have just told him already and saved us our sanity. Just to let you know, the universe doesn’t revolve around you or your dogs!
Listen, you unoriginal bastard, not everything with curse words has to go into the Pit. “Oh, mommy, the mean words frighten me. People are being mean, mommy!” Go suck an egg. No you know what? Go suck an ass. That’s right, suck a big fat hairy ass real good- here’s a straw, make sure you clean them out real nice. Don’t forget to floss with the dingle-beared ass-hairs when you’re done, either. I don’t think you were dropped on your head as a baby, I think they hit you with a claw-hammer a few times every week.
Damn! My upstairs neighbors are loud tonight! (and she’s a moaner)
Ohhhh poor thinksnow. “Waahhh! She’s a moaner! I’m so jealous! How am I going to get to sleep?”
Suck it up, buddy. Other people in the world are entitled to a little bit of bouncy time.
“She”? So there’s automatically one girl and one boy, because the whole world fits into your little sterile heterofascist boxes? Goddess, try looking around once in awhile and stop presuming that everyone behaves according to your tidy little assumptions of regimented sexuality, you overpopulating nincompoop!
Toronto is the capital of Ontario.
oh jeez, Ginger, who cares about your stupid polish?
maybe if you would stop spending all your money on those silly gold plated franklin mint ornamental-garden-gnomes-of-the-month, you could have a little more money to spend on your toe polish.
Is it too much to budget more than $2.00 on a bottle that will last 2 years or more? jeez! you people amaze me. spending like its going out of style, but you can’t budget for the really important things in life.
Of course it’s all about Canada isn’t it. Gay Canada at that, and subway stops that gay canadians hang out at while clutching underwear bears. Well you know what??
You can shave off your trendy little goatee, Mr **Gay Guy Junior **and put the bristles into an empty Coke can and shove the Coke can UP YOUR [oh dear - I thought we were in the Pit. Just checked. We’re not. Hmmm]
So glad we could learn the latest little piece of trivia from Toronto. As if we cared. After all, here in Melbourne,
Australia we may be part of the same Commonwealth of Nations (Head: Q. Elizabeth II) but why should our feelings be taken into account? We’re not Canadian, are we?
No just a simple straightforward australian, that’s me. Don’t want to cause trouble for anyone, or fly off the handle, or get anybody upset.
So, that excuses everything, does it? You’re “simple straightforward”, so it’s OK for you to touch up the Queen and break wind in front of the Pope, drinking Fosters until you puke up your barbequed prawns all over the nearest wallaby, all the while watching the world’s worst soap operas? You know what? You can take your second-rate so-called continent and shove it up its own Ramsey Street!
Yeah, you do that. Go get some coffee while the rest of us actually do some WORK around this place. No, go ahead. No sense in feeling guilty since you DON’T DO ANY WORK regardless if you’re drinking coffee or not, Mr. Standing-In-Front-of-The-Water-Cooler-Telling-Blonde-Jokes. Oh sure, yuck it up there, big guy. Your day will come when the B&FBA [sub]Blondes & Former Blondes Alliance[/sub] will come for you and we’ll see who laughs last, won’t we, Mr. Sprays-His-Hair-On-Every-Day!
So what are you trying to say? That you are to good to be a blonde? That blondes are beneath you? That all blondes are bimbos? What the hell is wrong with you BunnyGirl?
Oh, yes, and I’m sure it makes your shit smell JUST like roses, doesn’t it? Look, (as evidenced in my LAST post) SOME of us have constipatory problems that that OTC stuff just won’t touch. But the prescription stuff’s only approved for trial use in monkeys, so I gotta get the black market stuff shipped here from Guatemala and I open the box and it turns out to be some odd suppository thing that I swear has a FUSE on it so the first time I uses it after deciphering the spanish instructions and I actually twist myself around to where I CAN get the lighter held up to my sphincter, the next thing I know I’m part of a 4th of July spectacle and my ass is lit up like a Roman candle but once I get the extinguisher pointed the right way it blows eighteen gallons of pressurized foam up where the sun don’t (normally) shine and I’m RIGHT BACK WHERE I STARTED! So don’t try to fob off yer “Ex-Lax is a Wonder Drug” schtick to ME, who knows better than to trust some weasel-faced shill that’s obviously in the back pocket of some over-priced monopolistic Drug Company.
Listen, craphound, fireworks hadn’t even been invented in the Western world in the time of the Roman Empire, so don’t you dare cheapen the achievements of Marco Polo and others who brought gunpowder back from the East, centuries later, by associating them with those degenerate aqueduct-building, Christ-executing, lead-poisoning-suffering laurel-headed fuckups.
Claudius on a cracker, what I wouldn’t give to find someone on these boards with the LEAST knowledge of history.
I’ve just met a neurobiologist at Emory University.
oh I see. Yes. It’s all clear now. We are all stupid.
FIVER IS SMART.
Let me just cross stitch that onto my chest and then tear out the thread so there’s a permanent scar on my milky white skin that I can never forget. ALL HAIL FUCKING FIVER…Much like Beck, he’s WHERE IT’S AT.
Give me a break. Also, do me a favor. Take your neurobiologist and shove him right up your “i’ll take anything” ass.
Oh, now it’s all about the FAX isn’t it? Well boo-fucking-hoo you and your lost fax number. Did it ever occur to you that some people don’t have a working fax machine in their office? That maybe some people have to live with a broken machine while you enjoy your life of yuppie fax-machine-having ease? You pathetic bitch.
You think you’re so damn important with your oh-so-cool fax machine. “Ooooh, I’m jarbaby, I have a working fax machine while yours just sits there next to the copier like a big biege doorstop.” Yeah, you sure are cool. Did it ever occur to you that there are OTHER PEOPLE in this world besides yourself? People who aren’t spoiled with the life of excess that you take for granted, you soft-handed, princess-in-your-golden-tower “I live in Chicago where we have working fax machines” the world revolves around me and my stupid little problem whiny little trollop. You kind of people make me sick.
Oh man… Do I have to do everything for you? You know, if you would clean this pig-sty up every once in a while we wouldn’t have this problem… Yech… what’s this? Empty vanilla pudding containers? Gross! How long have these been here? Oh, and you might consider using this thing here… it’s called a “TRASH CAN”! Just because there’s crap all over the floor doesn’t mean that you should ADD TO THE PILE! Euuugh… What is this sticky stuff on your… oh, never mind… I don’t even want to know. You know, a maid service wouldn’t touch this with a 10 foot pole, and you expect me to help you find something? Cripes, have you been burrowing around in here? Everything is a potential landslide. Clean it up your damn self… I’m not touching it without a biohazard body suit!
Damn. My favorite Barry Manilow record has a scratch in it.