Odin, save me from unwashed pygmy-brains who participate on a message board but can’t even READ!
Listen, Half-A-Sawbuck-who’s-rump-buddies-with-a-brain-drainer, I’ll describe this once, slowly, using as few syllables as possible - There’s a genre of fireworks and they’re called Roman candles. It’s WRITTEN on the side of EVERY frickin’ package: “You are holding a Roman-fucking-candle!” Uncross your eyes you dyslexic half-wit. Better yet, ask your sweetie-pie neuro-witch-doctor to dig out the concrete cutter and open YOUR skull. Maybe he’ll run yer grey-matter through a meat grinder and bump your IQ a few points.
Oh, and Little Miss “I loooove Ramm-ass, he’s soooo dreeeeeamy” who can’t find a fax number, well let me just drop all MY efforts at saving the world and help you with that! Not like I’ve got people counting on me for their very survivial or anything. Not like the fate of Western civilization hangs in the balance. Oh, no, Lady Cottage Cheese Thighs never learned to properly work her Rolodex so I simply MUST let the city disappear into a smoking cloud of rubble while I help her rummage through the train-wreck she calls a filing system.
And Bottle of Pibb, naturally it’d never occur to the poncing, snot-faced, looking-down-my-nose-at-all-the-little-people-whose-work-place-soda-machines-don’t-have-the-sweet-elixer-that-mine-does, half-inflated pool toy that passes for your head to possibly ask if anyone else in the class would like one? No, you la-di-da ivory-tower art-nouveau types never think beyond your next bump of happy-powder nose candy, do you?
Poor little Tygr. Sounds like you’re not gettin’ any, huh? All that frustration, building up, building up, building up. So you take out your testosterone-laden rage on any helpless schmoe who happens to wander by. How very sad. Tell ya what? I’m pretty sure $20 will get you a hand job by that skanky ho down on the corner. You know the one; she’s got on the gold lame micro-mini and the tiger print tube tob with mystery stains on it. The one with the nice big cold sore on her lip?
Take this $20 and go get some female action. Female of any species. Seriously, the doctor isn’t believing the stories about your right hand getting “rope burned” any more.
You did what??? Sister, I am shocked! It’s not bad enough that you have to bind up your natural figure with those men-invented corsets of restraint, you also have to buy them at a child-labour-using hellhole of empty consumerism of the GAP? What the hell kind of false consciousness is that, you bourgeois assimilationist collaborationist?
What the hell do you mean by that??? Linguists MAJOR??? Do you hate minors? What the hell kinda bigoted, age-ist thinking is that. Oh I hate minors, you redneck! Go back to screwing your family so you can continue your uninterrupted gene pool.
Is that supposed to impress us? You’ve been getting lingual with every other guy in the subway? Metro, whatever. And what’s with Metro? What does that mean? New York calls it the subway, since it is subterranean. London calls it the Underground. Both easily explained. But the French-Canadians call it something else. No wonder Cecil called France “without doubt the most pretentious nation on the face of the earth.” Must be the dying language so afraid of LIVING languages adding words to it. The English speakers should hold all of you UNDER Meech Lake.
On the “fritz,” Spamlet? You like those German words, don’t you? Well, sieg heil, scheisskopf! Maybe you could stop shoveling Jews into the furnace long enough to realize that you lost that fucking war, so if your Japanese-made headphones (Hitler called them “yellow Aryans,” you know) aren’t working properly, then maybe you should just take that Walkman and shove it right up your dickhole.
And lurkernomore, a white shirt? Well, of course. We all see your true agenda now.
Oh, but of course you’re wearing a white shirt you racist POS. Wouldn’t want to risk intermingling with those other colored parts of life, would you? No, no, gotta remain pure and clean unlike those dirty, colored “shirts.”
You’re not fooling anyone, with your bad coding and your penchant for “white.” Are you sure it’s only a shirt and not a pointy-headed sheet?
Thinksnow. Let me toss this by you for consideration:
NOBODY CARES.
You think you are the absolute fucking center of the whole god damn slitlicking universe, doncha, mr. Look At My Shiny Bald Scrotum and My Big Bulging Italian Muscles…EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE CLEARY AN ARYAN. Hey pal, do everyone on the planet and galaxies in close proximity a favor and spend a little less time stroking off to your precious Peter Pan bendable action figures and more time learning how to get your head out of your ass.
We’ve got some really nice weather in chicago today!
What, just because you Chi-towners have dopefests at the drop of a hat, just because The Reader is based in Chicago and just because you’re silly über-contrived curse-word creating ass is there, we’re suppose to care what the weather is like?! Do you seriously have nothing better to contribute to this conversation than the local weather?
Hey, you know what, it’s nice here, too, and I hate being here, having nice weather doesn’t mean a thing so shut your cock-holster and let someone else get a word in here.
Oh, and speaking of Aryans, what about that freakish troupe of monkeys you slavishly follow around and squander every spare nickel on. That is, every nickel you don’t spend on sex-toys so you can beat your clit to sweaty thoughts of dirty welders.
Your nose itches? Gee, with a name like ** THINKSNOW ** I wonder how that is? Putting snow up your nose, I bet. Buying your coke at the local dealer, the one getting the little kids hooked so he can drive a pimped-out BMW while they go out and mug old ladies, beating them into a coma for their fiood stamps so they can get their next fix? Dropping out of school to feed their habit and into the downward spiral of government dependency and indolence, so the economy crashes and we become a third world nation? And all because of Thinksnow's nose....
Sure, go home for the weekend. Its you suburban commuting, SUV driving folks that are choking this planet! I can see you now in your starchy white shirt, your BBQ’s charcoal briquets belching out noxious fumes to mix with the crap your riding lawnmower has already spewed, greenhouse gas emissions galore! Our children have to live in this world someday, you know!
Christ, was that a spotted owl I just ran over with my solar-powered bike?
You know, for a politically correct, tree-hugging, tie-dye wearing environazi, you’d THINK you’d be a little more careful with using an important religious figure’s name as a curse word! But, noooo, it’s all an act with you. You and your little “I’m a tofu eater cause I don’t believe in killing animals for food” attitude can go fellate a bald eagle, you Ghandi-wannabe. IT’S ALL AN ACT! Something you picked up at that podunk college you went to. The College of Joe Bob’s Pick-up Repair and Bloodhound Training. We all know that degree in “philosophy” is as fake as your concern for the environment. I’ll bet you own stock in Phillip Morris, Alcoa and Monsanto.
SO WHAT YOU’RE SAYING BUNNY, and really, correct me if I’m wrong, is that WOMEN can only play softball.
OOOoohhh I’m just a girl. I can only play softball. That little baseball is too hard and too fast for me. Too hard? Too fast? Sounds a lot like an evening with you at work. Do just do them in the back of the car or actually drive off somewhere?
Why don’t you sit at home with your industrial strength vat of Bon Bon brand ice cream novelties, watching old thirtysomething reruns and reading the latest Oprah book while the rest of us real women go out and play SPORTS.
Maybe if you’d try, oh, I don’t know, maybe working a REAL job instead of some pseudo-suck-retary “position.” You’re not fooling anyone with your “Oh, that welder is so hot.” We know you are really talking about all the “Johns” trolling about for you as you peddle your ass-ets along in the shadow of the L.
Oh, Lady, preserve us… Another damn granola-gargling, bean-curd nibbling, corn and rice-cake chewing health-food addict. Tell me, ya getting enough fiber? Ya shitting out tree-trunks yet? Sure, walk through here with yer negative-twelve-percent body fat, ya got Ally McBeal telling you to eat a sandwich, fer crying out loud. Better start putting lead shot in yer pants, there’s a forecast 5 mph wind today and you MIGHT just get blown out to sea. Then again, with that physique, I guess that’s the only blowin’ your GONNA get, so maybe you’d better just enjoy it.
You mean that isn’t YOU?!? I just figgered that, knowing your reputation around here and all… But isn’t $20 a little high for what you have to offer? I mean, shit, here I am having to roll my windows up when I pass you, I mean her, on my way in to work just to keep the black flies from swarming out from between your, I mean her, legs and into my car. Here’s a tip (trust me, it’s the only “tip” you’ll ever get from me) - Buy yerself a little o’ that “feminine” spray. I know you’re not used to having anything “feminine” associated with you, but it’ll do wonders for the property values around your corner.
You want her to smell feminine . . . why? So you can fulfill your little stereotype about how all women are supposed to smell all fucking flowery? So maybe they’ll drown out your own foul stench (which I can see . . . forget smelling) and you’ll be able to go another week without washing your putrid self and the gnats breeding in your hair? You disgust me.
So fuck you and the feminine-smelling horse you rode in on, Tygr. AND to hell with that whole property values thing. I’ll have you know that in DC suburbs, your house can smell like shit (which, unfortunately for your previous perceptions, is not how to smell when you go on a hot date) and it’s still a steal at $300K.
Having to “discreetly” display your anti-semitic ways?
Go ahead, have cheese with that sandwich, too, why doncha?
You neo-nazi Aryian. I just had that feeling about you. Now we all know your devient ways, lil’ Hitler lover. You ol’ skinhead. probably conspired with the Germans against the good ol’ USA during the war. You Liberty hater. You probably even hate Hogan’s heros, too, doncha? damn Commie!
Salsa?
If I was as boring as you, the creation of salsa would be a miracle on the level of evolution.
When you lead a miracle whip on white bread,humdrum, make June Cleaver look like Courtney Love,secretly praying for your death life…
Salsa must seem really fascinating.
Give it a friggin’ rest with the Jeff Hardy already! I am so bloody tired of hearing that name that I’m ready to scream. After you shagged him for three days straight at Coldy’s you would think you would be tired of him by now but NOOOOO… Jeff Hardy this, Jeff Hardy that, Jeff Hardy kiss my white ass!
It’s going to storm here tonight. I like thunderstorms.