small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>sweatin the small stuff</strong>

Friday, October 29

sweatin the small stuff

Unexpected quote of the day,
“why don’t you rub one out on me”?
This charming little quote came from a friend of mine after I commented that her tan was fading. I think she meant to say “why don’t you rub some of yours off on me”. Meaning pass on some of my “darkness” to her. Either way after she said it she blushed so bad that it was kind of a moot point. It didn’t help with me grinning from ear to ear and asking did she want me to do it here, or somewhere more private.

Last night at home I made two mistakes I’m not likely to repeat soon. The first one was eating a pound of red grapes with a 7-Up. What the fucked up fuck was I fuckin thinking? The second was watching the scariest 100 moments in movie history. Lying in bed later wishing I could either take a giant shit or throw up was bad enough. But every time I closed my eyes all the horror shit I witnessed earlier kept coming back to fuck me up. Sometimes I really want to kick my own ass.

With election time coming up in a few days I plan to get out and make my voice heard, but to tell the truth? It could be a fuckin monkey in a pee stained diaper running against Bush and I’d still vote for his scruffy furry shit-throwing ass. I can’t stand Bush and want him out, but I ain’t digging Kerry’s freaky lookin ass either. But he’s against Bush and there aren’t enough trees in the world to make me want Nader, so Kerry gets my vote.

I saw in the news this morning where some sports writer is bashing the Red Sox sayin that they have a hard row to ho if they want to stay on top. And as Jeff Key would say, “what the honey baked hell”? The muthafucker’s won for the first time since what, fuckin World War One? And now some sports writer is giving em shit, saying that they need to do this and that to stay on top. I’m not a baseball fan by any means but the Red Sox need to tell this muthafucker to go lick an asshole. Like they give a big howdy doody shit right now. “We’re kings of the fuckin world”!!

And god save the queen cause this biotechnology firm in London is hard at work burning the midnight oil developing a more natural feeling breast implant. Ok, two things here. I overhear guys all the time talking out of their manginas about how if they met a woman with implants they wouldn’t have anything to do with em cause it’s unnatural to em. And everyone to their own opinion and shit, but what a bunch of tree huggin, sandal wearin little bitches. Get the fuck out of here. Oh yeah, like I’m gonna meet some hot chick with great big ole fake titties and tell her to hit the skids cause I don’t wanna hang with her because she has implants. Fuck that! It’s like when I’m asked what my favorite sexual position is. It’s NEKKED! I’m a simple man dammit. And I’m just happy to be there. And if I’m close enough to some chick to know for a fact that she has fake tits, I’m not fuckin going anywhere. How is it that you never hear any of the older cats sayin stupid shit like that? You know why? Cause we like titties in all their wondrous forms and we also know that the tittie doesn’t make the fucking woman. It’s the fucking woman that makes the woman. Shit, give me the job in the lab checking titties for natural feel and all that good shit. “Greg, take a lunch break”. “NO”. “Greg, your shifts over, take your ass on home”. “NO”. Fuck, I’d love my job, that’s one daily burden I’d wear proudly as a muthafucker. I’d be so happy like fuckin Gollum in the Lord of the Rings when he sings after catching a fish.
“The rock and pool, (whack) is nice and cool, (whack) so juicy sweet. (whack) (whack) Our only wish, to catch a fish, so juicy sweet. (whack)

"and the monkey flipped the switch"
"and the monkey flipped the switch"


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hah! LOL! Official boobie inspector. That would be an awesome job! After laughing myself silly, I had to pick myself up off the floor and comment on the extremely funny post! Good stuff.



7:37 PM  
Blogger Da Goldfish said...

Well, I can say that having been a Boob Inspector in times past, it isn't all that. For every fresh young seventeen year-old, there's a hundred middle-aged flab-harpies with hairy infected nipples the size of dinner plates. Plus the pay is lousy.

But my colleagues in the Pussy Inspectorate had it worse.

7:42 PM  
Blogger Jessica said...

If you get a job as a breast-handler, then I think I should get my job as "Official Wedding Objector" The plan is, I get paid to come up with excellent reasons to object at weddings right at that lovely pause, "Say so now, or forever hold your peace..." And I'm willing to bat for both sides. It could be lucrative, I think.

10:41 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

FAKE TITS, money well spent and jessica, "I really thaink I need to keep you around". Hows about free drinks?

4:09 PM  

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