First moisten the beard with warm water.
Then lightly stipple the shaving cream on with the brush.
Draw the blade slowly, yet firmly across the beard.
Remember to go with the grain, not against.
If the blade pulls or does not cut, rinse and dry the blade.
Run the blade up and down a good strop until it is rehoned.
Strop
Ssstr… Ahh… Ppt
STROP! STROP! STROP!
Hone
Stringy moist taint mucus?
Eeww. That’s…ew. See a doctor. Call an ambulance. Get a flamethrower.
grapple.
Now, there’s a word. Say it…grapplegrapplegrapple…in fact, any “apple” word. Snapple, scrapple, grapple.
Hey! Hey, guys! Do I get extra points for using “moist” in a totally nongratuitous context elsewhere?
Guys? Hey guys! Guys?
Also, “pamplemousse” has been one of my favorite words since even *before *my buds and me declared “moist” the ultimate squick. “Pamplemousse” rox.
Now if you need a word to drain of meaning, try “wheelbarrow”.
wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow wheelbarrow
Exquisite.
Now, that’s one sexy word right there. Oh, yes.
Banana. Best word ever. The first runner up is squirrel.
My least favorite word is metastasize. Not just because of what it means, either. It’s just an ugly word.
Put me down on the “hate” side of moist.
Kumquat?
Marrrrrrgarine.
Spatula
Tuberculosis
Oops, sorry, I thought this was the Bulbous Bouffant thread.
With my upcoming nuptials, I’ve recently noticed the oddness of the word “nuptials”.
It’s really hard to say and sounds vaguely dirty.
nuptialsnuptialsnuptialsnuptials.
I like my oysters moister than I like my potato chips.
I like my clams–I like them moist, too.
Bezoar and vomer.
Two words that I learned in Med Term class that both intrigue and repel me.
I’ve always been partial to the word Euphonious.
It doesn’t really lend itsself to being written in a stretched out form, though.
euphonious
Maybe? I’ll get them started: The nun wore her hair a snood, and unfortunately she also had an unfortunate mucus problem that left her with moist panties and slacks, but once she was defenstrated…
Moist is okay. I think of cake, brownies and the band. But I don’t like the word bucolic. I know what it means, but it shouldn’t - it ought to mean something damp, dripping and filled with pestilence. Like an unmaintained subway tunnel. And it makes my stomach kind of hurt thinking about it. Bucolic. Doesn’t it sound like you’re about to vomit?
Oh yeah, and I like them ZESTY. Moist, zesty oysters. There’s nothing better.
Oyters and clams, yum! Zesty oysters and clams, yuummm!!
Zesty. I likes that word. Zesty Zesty Zesty!
Obfuscate your zesty, moist clams.
Sometimes, when it’s cold and the dry cleaners has used too much starch, it make my nuptials hurt.
Zesty shouldn’t even be a real word. It’s like some sort of 1950’s-style marketing term. Make your cake zesty with Spong brand pastry filler!
Spong. I know it’s a name but… spong spong spong
:: jumps up and down ::
spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong spong