It was nowhere near as prolific as "The Day After Tomorrow."
Horrible movie. But something about the apocalypse is cool. Especially when the couple at the end of your theatre seating row is harvesting the hymenial sweets.
Completely true story. It was very distracting, not so much for the merits of enjoying a flesh session in a semi-crowded, dimly lit public place (which drew curiosity and ire alike from the patrons) but because the dude had an effeminate physique making it impossible to tell who was on top at any given time. Admittedly, it nicely spiced up the last half-hour of the movie, but the icing on the cake (or the... bu-cake if you will. Zing!)- dude was chimney sweeping until the lights came on and people stared. THEY STARED!
But we skillfully tracked this teeming couple down afterwards to solve the aforementioned "king of the hill" question and had this guy not just been boxing the beaver on the observation deck I would've mistaken him for a little bitch. Rock on, feminine spiky-green-haired guy. I wish I had a crystal ball so I could see what hijinks you're up to now (incidentally, that was sorta the plot to an obscure, backyard porn flick called "Crystal Balls").
Regardless, all that ocean motion before a live studio audience probably worked up a mean sweat. And I ain't gonna lie- I'm a sweaty guy. I destroy shirts with my gushing underarms. Or rather... I DID.
Past-tense. NO MORE! I started using Certain Dri, an industrial strength antiperspirant and THE SHIT WORKS. It literally drained the swimming pool from my pits- although there is a small, nickel sized patch that still defiantly sprouts up but it's fighting a losing battle. It's like Custer's last stand in the woods under my shoulders.
But now for the ultimate test... Can this be used off-label to cure swamp ass?
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
The "4" is for "foreplay"
"Celebrate the birth of your country by blowing up a small part of it!"
Classic words spoken to Homer Simpson as he attempts to purvey illegal fireworks (along with condoms, cigarettes and smut mags as I recall) from Apu's Cape Cod counterpart. Being presented with the M-320, supposedly 4 times as powerful as the M-80!
Simple math can tell you that. However, if your inner mathlete persona also happens to be a bit of a pyro you'll know that an M-320 is a FULL STICK of TNT. Hot shit I want one!
Misfortune ala Porkchop Sandwiches befalls Homer as he tries to light the stick, but instead of one of America's elite soldiers from the counter-terrorist organization known as GI JOE barging in and "OH SHIT GET THE FUCK OUT!," he is panicked and secures the explosive in the dishwasher.
The fine china had it coming. Seriously, what was with all that creepy shit going down in Beauty and the Beast? And how do you think Beast feels knowing that a significant portion of his culinary staff have felt the lips of his woman? On which parts? I don't know what the fucking anatomy of a human transmogrified to a spoon is!
And to think that whole mess was tossed into an autonomous sink who had to deal with the clap and cold sores. If anything, that M-320 was doing the dishwasher a favor.
Two birds, one stone. And I didn't even need a rail gun!
What would I do if I had an M-320 though? Strap it to a lawn chair and blast off to the moon. That'll show that helium ballon punk who's boss...
Happy belated Independence Day!
Classic words spoken to Homer Simpson as he attempts to purvey illegal fireworks (along with condoms, cigarettes and smut mags as I recall) from Apu's Cape Cod counterpart. Being presented with the M-320, supposedly 4 times as powerful as the M-80!
Simple math can tell you that. However, if your inner mathlete persona also happens to be a bit of a pyro you'll know that an M-320 is a FULL STICK of TNT. Hot shit I want one!
Misfortune ala Porkchop Sandwiches befalls Homer as he tries to light the stick, but instead of one of America's elite soldiers from the counter-terrorist organization known as GI JOE barging in and "OH SHIT GET THE FUCK OUT!," he is panicked and secures the explosive in the dishwasher.
The fine china had it coming. Seriously, what was with all that creepy shit going down in Beauty and the Beast? And how do you think Beast feels knowing that a significant portion of his culinary staff have felt the lips of his woman? On which parts? I don't know what the fucking anatomy of a human transmogrified to a spoon is!
And to think that whole mess was tossed into an autonomous sink who had to deal with the clap and cold sores. If anything, that M-320 was doing the dishwasher a favor.
Two birds, one stone. And I didn't even need a rail gun!
What would I do if I had an M-320 though? Strap it to a lawn chair and blast off to the moon. That'll show that helium ballon punk who's boss...
Happy belated Independence Day!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tasty Morsels!
I like food. Just in general. Everything from steak to crayons, although I should note the tropical flavors taste better.
Speaking of which, I still remember when the 64 color crayon box from Crayola was new. And they had the 8 crayon pocket with 'unnamed' colors that you had to submit names for? I toiled for hours upon unproductive hours trying to name them. If only I had known what I know now, I'd have just named them their hex values.
Regardless, none of mine got selected, though. Perhaps it was because I was naming them after variations of bodily products such as "phlegm" and "red snow."
If you didn't even have to think about "red snow," I strongly suggest you move to a warmer climate and visit the local urologist.
Speaking of which, I still remember when the 64 color crayon box from Crayola was new. And they had the 8 crayon pocket with 'unnamed' colors that you had to submit names for? I toiled for hours upon unproductive hours trying to name them. If only I had known what I know now, I'd have just named them their hex values.
Regardless, none of mine got selected, though. Perhaps it was because I was naming them after variations of bodily products such as "phlegm" and "red snow."
If you didn't even have to think about "red snow," I strongly suggest you move to a warmer climate and visit the local urologist.
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