@Lysergic Asset: can you and i got in on the damn house together, burn that damn flag our first night and then have subversive gay sex all over the property?
Monday: Don't. Slam. My. Door. Don;t slam my door. Don't slam my door don't slam my door don't slam my OWWWWWWWW!!! MOTHERfucker!!
Tuesday: Yeah, that's right, Mr. Man. Just bob along in your hottub there. Real reeeelaxed. I'm loosening up this chimney pot. Just for you.
Wednesday: You know, no matter how many locks you put on the bathroom I am still fully aware you're pounding your pudding in there.
Thursday: Got a call from my cousin in Amityville. Smug bastard just ran out the third family this month. Have been begging to learn the trick with the flies but no dice. Overlook offered to show me the Bleeding Elevator bit, but = no elevator = no bleeding elevator.
Friday: Mother was right. I should have taken the lead in "Poltergeist." "Typecasting" the agent said. "You'll never be a full fade to a weekly rom-com" the agent said. And now the agent is guzzling martinis in Boca Raton and I'm stuck in Connect-a-cunt waiting to have my gutters sandblasted.
@Lysergic Asset: I never had one. I tried uploading a picture of a Rolls Royce on fire, but it didn't work, mostly because the guy whose car it was caught me before I could light the match.
Hey, if forced simulated drowning until driven psychotic, with your warm piss mixing with the contents of your emptied bowels dribbling thickly down your bound legs (that you'd gladly eat if they'd only stop the torrents of water poured over your cloth-covered face (God dear god please kill me now please kill me now!)) doesn't count as "torture", then surely we'd be small to quibble over "radio sponsor" not counting as "paid spokesman".
But we don't torture.
So we won't quibble.
Although, really: shouldn't Beck shill for Vick's Vapor Rub instead?
12/17/09
12/17/09
12:21 AM
12/17/09
Monday: Don't. Slam. My. Door. Don;t slam my door. Don't slam my door don't slam my door don't slam my OWWWWWWWW!!! MOTHERfucker!!
Tuesday: Yeah, that's right, Mr. Man. Just bob along in your hottub there. Real reeeelaxed. I'm loosening up this chimney pot. Just for you.
Wednesday: You know, no matter how many locks you put on the bathroom I am still fully aware you're pounding your pudding in there.
Thursday: Got a call from my cousin in Amityville. Smug bastard just ran out the third family this month. Have been begging to learn the trick with the flies but no dice. Overlook offered to show me the Bleeding Elevator bit, but = no elevator = no bleeding elevator.
Friday: Mother was right. I should have taken the lead in "Poltergeist." "Typecasting" the agent said. "You'll never be a full fade to a weekly rom-com" the agent said. And now the agent is guzzling martinis in Boca Raton and I'm stuck in Connect-a-cunt waiting to have my gutters sandblasted.
12/17/09
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This is the worst phrase I have ever read.
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Also a good bang (yuck yuck) for the buck: sleeping with Tiger Woods.
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But we don't torture.
So we won't quibble.
Although, really: shouldn't Beck shill for Vick's Vapor Rub instead?
12/14/09
Great big greasy gobs of fattening gold.
With futures sauce.
12/14/09