Spring is here, and we're out on parole. The weather in H-Town is nothing short of orgasmic. We erupted like Eyjafjallajökull just glancing at the crytal pool this morning. Fortunately we fuck like the Man from Fire Mountain, so that's only an appetizer. No, not even; an amuse-bouche.
Amuse-bouche? Amuse-douche, also known as every single night on the Washington Shore. Coming soon to a NOX near you: Dancing With the Bores. What did you say honey? We can't hear you over the oontz oontz and the din of braying goomba. Hey bro -- do you speak retard? We said, do you have a playa card -- wink at the baby, wink at the baby -- cause we don't think you're allowed to wear that t-shirt without one. Can we borrow your friend? There's this really cool trick she needs to see. Hey baby, buy us a drink. Swoop -- and scene.
Next Wednesday is Spanko de Mayo. Three things you'll need to celebrate Lord-style: (1) an attitude the size of a BP oil slick; (2) a spanking device of your own choosing (we like a wooden spoon, but a bare hand will work if you cup it just so); and (3) a pocketful of excellence! No jimmies allowed. We call that improving the gene pool one swoop at a time!
Peace out playaz.
Bonus quote of the week: Every time a fat chick manages to get laid, god smites a kitten. By sitting on it. 
2 comments:
"...the din of braying goomba..." - even God doesn't have such command of English.
I don't grok the expression: "crytal pool." After running it through my lexicon, I conclude D.S. intended to reference Klytus.
http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1180/1071921649_9a6fe6cd0e.jpg
Post a Comment