Threefer Madness
From the Friday the 13th grab bag:This … seems a little harsh, doesn’t it?
CONTEST - The Wise County Sheriff’s Posse is looking for queens, sweethearts and little miss contestants for the Sheriff’s Posse Rodeo Queen and Sweetheart Contest. The contest closes July 17. For more information call Alina Smith at (940) 466-9457 or Cindy Stephens at (940) 427-2146.
I mean, what’s the Sheriff’s Posse got against beauty queens?
Why don’t we just get Miss Cleo installed as our Homeland Security chief?
Did y’all catch the news a couple of days ago, where that numbnuts Chertoff — who’s supposed to be right the fuck on top of, you know, THREATS TO OUR FUCKING HOMELAND — was gabbing on the record about how he has a “gut feeling” we’re gonna be terror-attacked by the end of the summer? He provided no details, of course, and seems to be unable to explain why his “gut” tells him so (hint: chaos of Iraq and our consequent inability to pay attention to terror threats anywhere = resurgent al-Quaida ‘n Pals). But look out, America! “I ain’t sayin there’s gonna for sure be a terror attack — I’m just sayin, know what I mean?” Ugh. You know what MY gut tells me? You guys are a bunch of crazy assholes with Dorito-laced vomit for brains, and you endanger me, my country and in fact the entire world more every single day that you continue to suck air. Fuck you very much, and fuck your “gut” too.
Fellow FBOFW prisoners only:
Why don’t we just get Miss Cleo installed as our Homeland Security chief?
Did y’all catch the news a couple of days ago, where that numbnuts Chertoff — who’s supposed to be right the fuck on top of, you know, THREATS TO OUR FUCKING HOMELAND — was gabbing on the record about how he has a “gut feeling” we’re gonna be terror-attacked by the end of the summer? He provided no details, of course, and seems to be unable to explain why his “gut” tells him so (hint: chaos of Iraq and our consequent inability to pay attention to terror threats anywhere = resurgent al-Quaida ‘n Pals). But look out, America! “I ain’t sayin there’s gonna for sure be a terror attack — I’m just sayin, know what I mean?” Ugh. You know what MY gut tells me? You guys are a bunch of crazy assholes with Dorito-laced vomit for brains, and you endanger me, my country and in fact the entire world more every single day that you continue to suck air. Fuck you very much, and fuck your “gut” too.
Fellow FBOFW prisoners only:
I have to say, I LOVE that the wee perfect sweet adorable lil’ cottage of John an’ Elly’s dreams is turning out to be a money pit.* That Stibbs pimp is livin it up in Monaco right about now, hangin out with high-grade hookers and laughin like a maniac at how he fleeced these two giant-butted suburban yokels and their princely spawn — and Stibbs, baby, I’m right there with ya.
*My dad, whose construction skillz paid the billz (you know, sometimes, when they got paid at all), and who lived in our 100+-year-old house for 25 years as it fell apart all around us and got sporadically repaired — by him — thought The Money Pit (and its original source, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House) were the Worst. Unfunniest. Movies. Ever. He haaaated them. Reasons fairly obvious, eh wot.
*My dad, whose construction skillz paid the billz (you know, sometimes, when they got paid at all), and who lived in our 100+-year-old house for 25 years as it fell apart all around us and got sporadically repaired — by him — thought The Money Pit (and its original source, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House) were the Worst. Unfunniest. Movies. Ever. He haaaated them. Reasons fairly obvious, eh wot.
Labels: cryin' amazacrazy, douchebaggery, Jesus H. Christ in a sidecar drinking tequila
posted by Gleemonex at 11:36 AM
3 Comments:
I should know that when I don't really understand a post - it's not because I'm not current in my events, it's because it's about friggin' FBOFW.
I love how you can HEAR the ANTS SQUEAKING! I hope they can hear it in their dreams.
The ants go marching two by two, hurrah! hurrah!
The ants go marching two by two, hurrah! hurrah!
The ants go marching two by two, the little one stops to tie his shoe, and they all go mar-ching
down
to the earth
to get out
of the rain
The ants go marching three by three, hurrah! hurrah!
The ants go marching three by three, hurrah! hurrah!
etc. etc. ad infinitum
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