Tuesday, May 29, 2007

This is a gmailer

I often wonder if you had sex with a zombie, would you also get the zombie sickness and would she get a baby.  

I guess you'd have to use a condom to be for certain that nothing bad was going to happen which is kind of sad when you're out hitting zombie strange.

Kinda sucks the adventure out of the whole adventure.

I suppose a good plan B would be to use an extra amount of lube--like four times more than normal and also to quickly pee when done.  To flush the system.

That might work.

And guess what else?

The hiv.

What if you have it?  Can you pass it on to a zombie?  Do they then get the hiv and die in four years from the aids?

That would be kind of sad, I guess.

For the zombie.

Even though she was a slutty one.

Does being a zombie protect you from the STDs--as if you was a walking condom of death?

If so, that's a definite check in the win column on being a zombie.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

I'm so uptight, I'm sorry

I think that if hot dogs grew off of pigs like 12 inch skin tags that I would like hot dogs at least 40% better.

Plus if you add on to the fact that when you chopped off the skin tags with a sharp butcher knife the pigs let out a wild giggle of glee and that the blood that poured out was syrup or beer or that old cologne Obsession.

And I know it's asking for too much, but if the shorn skin tag dogs could then sing old black songs from the 40s like are in the Disney shows while you swallowed them down...that would sure be a sight.

I would then like hot dogs better.

I like them pretty well, currently, especially with ketchup and kraut.

But not so well as singing skin pig tags.

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Monday, May 21, 2007

You should steal the innernet

If you and me had a semen tasting contest, I'd surely win.

I would use a beer bong with the largest funnel and I'd pour it all in such that the turgid flow smoothed right down my throat and into my stomach without a taste (except the accursed telltale burps which warn the world of the dubious doings).

You'd gulp in down in turns, tasting every morsel, because you never could relax your throat sphincter like your sister tried to teach you.

In a way that's a personal failing of yours.

But you know that's not what I meant by tasting.

You know I know that my semen tastes better than yours and that it would be a taste test with your wife who will vouch for the higher flavor and viscosity of mine.

Though, I suppose in a way, you may win from the taste of novelty. That novelty vote sure can swing powerful emotions.

I kind of hope you win.

Because I have a big heart.

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Friday, May 11, 2007

If I was a spy I'd be dead by now

This is how you'll know me.

I'm in Omaha which is an established fact and I wear corduroy trousers all about town to protect me from potential motorycle burns. I have a tattoo on my right arm of your mom's name and it's spelled wrong, of course, but we both know what it says. Her name is Beth or something and I have it spelled Belinda but it's all the same thing.

The other thing is that you'll see that I am Love and it will ring true. I am love.

I met a woman who has never had an orgasm, recently.

Never. Ever. Not even self-induced.

I met her in a grocery store checkout line.

Ok, that's a lie. The line part. That would be fun banter to throw around whislt waiting for your turn to pay.

Anyway, I believe we should set up a fund to get her a new vagina and someone fine to play with.

Send me the money, of course, and I'll spend it on looking for potential vaginas and also on alcohol (plural of vagina is vaginae(even in something as simple as a plural vaginas are complicted)).

I'll scour the earth for you.

For her.

For us, darling.

For us.

For me.

For me.

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Wednesday, May 09, 2007

I'll bet I'm taller than you.

I have prayed that the Utah Jazz would win their game and they have won and what more proof do you need that there is a God? The one Xian God with sideburns and a hooka!

On other news, I have invented a tool which will stop you from looking at cleavage.

You should not be looking at the split of the rack, in fact, it should not even be showing at all. That's devil's play that thin line in the fleshy sand.

The invention is a set of glasses with needles that go where the eyes normally go.

Does it work, though?

Oh, yes.

It works!

Thank me later, ladies.

Finally, I think that another better option for Carbonite is Shea butter.

It not only would be very good for encasing but when you finally came out you would smell good, be refreshed and your skin would be vital.

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Thursday, May 03, 2007

Nine O'clock feels late

If I was a referee I would be biased toward the white people.

Then if anyone confronted me about it like Jesse Jackson or those other liberal savages I would refer to a certain law in this land called Affirmative Action.

Because you might think that white people are better at sports but that's not true. All you have to do is look at Basketball.

And football, soccer, baseball, cricket (I know, I know, white people don't care about cricket (except the stupid Australians) (And the Kiwis) (Kiwis are lesser Australians) but because I'm a lawyer I have to include it in order to live up to the "Letter of the Law.")

The only sport I can think of where I wouldn't necessarily favor the white guy is chess.

In chess I'd favor the non-Russian. And I definitely wouldn't favor those shitty little kids who win at the age of 7. Fuck them. Try to show me up? Not on my watch, Tatum O'Neil.

Or maybe I'd just let the Russians win. What else do they have? It's so sad.

Perestroika. Nonsense word.

Yeah, that worked out.

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Wednesday, May 02, 2007

I hope Tyson loses.

Gynecomastia if funny but only on others.

Diplopiac Gynecomastia.

Gynecomastia mastication.

Medical journals are not fun. At all.

Guess what else, I hope Jesus hates ants because I sure do.

I just killed about 8 million of them.

I bet if there was a Jedi ant he'd feel a disturbance in the force from all that spraying I done and then he'd lean over on some other ant like he was going to feint.

I bet he does that shit all the time. "Oh, I feel a disturbance in the force, blah blah blah."

I hate people like that.

Just pick up some seeds and stop wilting like some Jedi flower.

Use the force if you want, fine, fine, just get the damn seeds. Jesus.

We know your game.

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Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Pate is gross

I'll bet this is what broke up Paul McCartney and that one cripple girl who had her leg shot off by the communists.

I'll bet they were fighting and Paul said, "You're half the woman Linda was."

And that was it, know what I mean?

The cripple girl lost it and was all, how can you say such a thing? And she moves her hand up and down to stress those words, too. Slowly. Like this: *wave hand slowly and say, "how can such a thing be said?"*


And you know how Paul is, he's harmless. He realizes his mistake and he owns up to it. He says (hoping to clarify the issue), "No, it's a metaphor. A metaphor."

But it's clearly too late.

Damage has been done.

The goose is out of the paddock, as they say.

The one legged man in an ass kicking contest has surprisingly won a fair amount of cash, pre-nup be damned.

And you know how girls with one leg can be. You look down your nose at them or you glare at their stub a bit too long and they go ballistic.

You should have called me first, Paul.

I know all the tricks with the stubby gals.

(They don't get metaphors)

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