My fucking husband thinks this is why the fuck God gave him a wife. He just fucking hands them fuckers to me and says FUCK! [insert Scylla rant here], and I fucking hit him with the stun gun to fucking subdue him, then I fucking fix 'em for him. He has not fucking untied a knot, removed a fucking stain, or fucking threaded sweatpant strings in 7 fucking years.
I think I need a fucking wife!
Scylla, all I can say to your rant is:
Fuckin’ A! Why the fuck is it up to YOU, poor fucking consumer, to fucking fix the design flaws that the fucking sweatpant industry should be addressing? Motherfuckers!
Fuck. I fuckin’ thought it was a fuckin’ Law for fucks sake that fuckin’ men fuckin’ wanted a fuckin’ solution, while fuckin’ women fuckin’ wanted to be ‘fuckin’ listened to. Fuck. Gotta fuckin’ go to those fuckin’ meetings, they fuckin’ keep on fuckin’ changing the fuckin’ rules on me. Fuck.
fuck if this fuckin’ thread fuckin’ aint’ proof that **Scylla’s fuckin’ male, then this ** fuckin’thread should prove it.
Nope, us guys sometimes want to just rant without some schmuck comming along and telling us how to fix it too. Heck I’m a man, of course I wannt fix it, can’t ya just let a guy bitch in piece???
Though I do think men more frequently do their bitching of this sort to the open air with no one else around to hear it.
I fucking bet that you’ve never taught anyone over 13 how to knit or fucking crochet. “fucking crochet hook” is a common phrase… as is “stupid crochet fucking hook,” “fucking stupid crochet fucking hook,” “fucking, stupid, piece of shit crochet hook.” And other things I won’t write even in the pit.
Hey Cranky, I have a pair of those, but mine are in green, with the crotch worn thru. And boy, I could see where you were going with the I shouldn’t even wear them out of the house thanks for noticing.
And for those keeping score, I am trying to watch my use of “B” words. To show my son that even mommie can watch her language and so should he. BTW “B” words is four year old for any word that will get you in hot water.
Oh, yeah, I have used the crochet phrase before. Trust me, it has been uttered before. Like in November when you are trying to crochet tiny little snow flakes for every member of both families. It was probably a bit worse than the phrase written up there.
You’re a fucking GUY. You know the fucking answer to this. There is one fucking solution to fucking clothing problems, that every, single, fucking guy in the whole fucking universe knows:
Staples.
Need to fucking hem cuffs? Staples. Need to fucking close rips? Staples. Want the fucking string to stay fucking closed without a fucking knot that’ll force you to use Alexander’s fucking solution to get rid of? Staple the fucking ends to-fucking-gether. Run 'em through the fucking wash. When you’re fucking done, use a fucking staple remover. Q.E.Fucking.D. Problem fucking solved.
But I’ve got a fucking problem with your fucking response to Billy Rubin’s suggestion that you use fucking sissy-wimp safety pins: I’d understand you not wanting to fucking use them because real men use staples. But your fucking reason is that the girlyboy safety pin would be too fucking close to your 'nads while they’re in the fucking washing machine?!
Scylla, you poor, misguided fuck: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE THE FUCKING SWEAT PANTS OFF BEFORE YOU PUT 'EM IN THE WASH!
Glad I could help, and next time, watch your fucking language.
I’m fucking laughing my fucking ass off tight fucking now!
If it weren’t too fucking early to start fucking drinking, I’d rip the fucking pulltab off the fucking top of a fucking can of beer and then fucking open the fucker with a fucking screwdriver!
I used to have fucking softball coaches who fucking actually found fucking sweatpants with a fucking zipper. Why not fucking wear jeans? Although, I suppose Scylla doesn’t want his fucking precious little nads to fucking close to a fucking zipper. (Thanks to “There’s Something About Fucking Mary” for that fucking interesting visual.) Which is probably the fucking reason for the fucking sweatpants in the first place. Since my fucking post benefits fucking no-one, I guess I’m just fucking sharing this fucking interesting little bit.
Only one fucking question remains, though…Where do they fucking buy these fucking high-class sweatpants? Lil’ fuckers even had pockets in the fucking back. Gee fucking whiz.
Jesus fucking christ, you gotta be dry humping me. Doncha just fuckin hate it when ya try to be just a little fucking helpful and after posting the fucker, you realize that ain’t the fucking point.
Here’s your real fucking solution, forget about the bobby pin, I had a fucking brain fart there.
Just go:
“Hey sweatpants, I got two fucking words for you and they ain’t happy birthday. Go fuck yourself!”
Yeah, Billy, but we’re talkin’ about a MAN here Like Scylla, I love to believe I’m sportin’ a humongous set. A pin could do a lot of damage to these bollocks. Babies may be safe, but Real Men live in fear of puncture. :eek:
Swaggeringly Yours,
Cartooniverse
Out of boundless respect for Lynn, I’d like to offer my editorial services in taking her sublimely brilliant remarks into a format befitting this Thread. To wit:
Go down to the fucking fabric and craft store. As one of those fucking saleslady’s who hate male customers because they don’t know jack fuck about fabrics. Say, " I need a plastic thingamabob for my fucking sweatpants". She’ll likely say, " Your nads aren’t worth protecting you wretched fuck you, go and use Baby Pins".
Then you go home and take your fucking blood pressure and slip a coupla-three Nitro’s under your tongue and spend the fucking afternoon hitching up your fucking sweatpants.
<grin> Sorry, Lynn, I had to do it. Good idea though. ( Wiping fucking streaks of shit from nose ).
Cartooniverse
My mother still thinks she raised a gentleman just cause I show respect to strangers. <cackle>
This has to be some sor tof record: not including the one in this sentence, 476 individual uses of the word “fuck.”
I mean, goddamn! You’d think you fuckers didn’t have fuck-all else to do than throw some fuckin’ dirty words right the fuck in your posts. Fuckwits. Douchebag cock-gargling monkey fuckers. Spermy-ass-crust bung flossers.
Well, you get the idea.
To the OP, you probably wouldn’t need a draw-string if’n the groundhogs didn’t chew up all y’alls elastic, eh?
You fuckers fucking crack me right the fuck up! I’ve never fucking laughed so fucking hard in all my fucking life! And I’m at fucking work! I’ll probably get fucking fired!
