I’m still un-recovered from my week in CA and a red-eye on Friday, so I can’t think of one darn half-witty thing to say about anything. I even phoned in the poat title. I even forgot to call my dad on Sunday. All I can do now is call him today and apologize. No forgetting!
Cleaning.
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This is the ‘short limo’. I assume this is Biden’s.
The larger one is called the ‘Beast’ and has to be driven up the ramp at a 45 degree angle due to the long wheel base.
Good afternoon, lovelies. It’s Friday, which means it’s time to put your feet up, grab a beer, put on a Vaseline Kiss record and act the fool. In other words, time to get cray-cray.
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I wrote this song while on tour with an up and coming band named Holy Shit. They were an industrial, emo, 1970s band that specialized in exotic distortion noises and feedback. On the second night, I just couldn’t take it anymore and started beating the shit out of their guitar/synth player. It just so happened that Holy Shit was opening for Elton John at the Prince Albert theater, and Sir Elton had been working on a new song. The rest is history.
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This week features a latina born in the most excellent year of 1975 in San Luis Obispo, CA. Her early career was spent impersonating a Jackson Pollock painting, but then in a stroke of genius, she decided to move behind the camera to take pictures of girls doing the same impersonation. Please welcum a first time BBF chick that weighs in at a paltry 34F—Monica Mendez!!1!!!!1!!!!1
Greetings and salutations to any and all who read this. Unless you voted for 0bama, in which case I hope your day is filled with life-altering tragedy. No, really. I hope your doc tells you that you have ass cancer. And I hope he uses those exact words. Not “colon cancer”, not even “anal cancer”. “Ass cancer”. You deserve it, you rectal wart of a foul poopstain on the dirty old brown shoe of a dishonest day laborer.
Now, to the rest of you fine folk that either voted for R&R (thanks for the effort) or stayed home (eh, I get it, but duuuuuuuude), welcome to MMM #70. With any luck, we’ll make it to 700. Actually, if I’m still doing this in… 13 years, I’ll quit. For now, though, MMM is on!
Good morning.
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Just like you like it on Saturdays: irrelevant and essentially content free.
Completely OT:
Hello, bags of douche, and welcome to Big Boob Friday: MJ is a fucking slacker edition (II). I’m having a little trouble being creative right now, mostly because I used up most of my awesome in the first 11 months of this year. Let’s try and slog through this together, shall we?
I wrote this song when Mare was scratching my kicky spot under the table in 1981.
I bitched and moaned last time I did one of these poasts about how difficult it is to find new talent to grace the pages of this shithole blog, and this week was no different. After an exhausting 45 seconds of pressing ‘random page’ at Boobpedia, I settled on today’s lucky lady, Dana Hamm!
Happy Veteran’s Day (Observed), and thank you to all our veterans (observed).
I’m not feeling too big on words today. It’s been a rough week for every one of us, and tens of millions of strangers we’ve never met. We’ll get through this. The light of freedom — stretching backward in time, a torch carried forward by different peoples speaking all manner of tongues — has not been and cannot be extinguished, only dimmed for awhile.
We’ll get through this. We have to. Children yet unborn need the warning only our witness can provide. We owe it to them to bear that witness. We’ve already stolen more from them than they can ever earn, so we at least owe them that.
*sighs*
*removes glasses*
*massages bridge of nose*
Now, hot chicks in Lycra.
