Ladies Love Lingerie

Which, I happen to love ladies in lingerie, so it works out well.

Dave in Texas will be the first to admit that bass players get no ass. But you’d be surprised to learn who does. Not the lead guitar. The drummer.

Tossed together at the last minute tushy Tuesday

Wow, who knew that pounding cheap vodka till 1am would cause poor blogging skills 7 hours later?  I think we need a federal grant to study this some more.

2013 is the year of the leggings. Hawt chicks in the shiny/faux leather leggings are my current paraphilia.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Because I love you!

(no, not you, Wiser)

(no, not you, either, Dave)

A Valentine’s Poem:

My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you has screwed up my life.

I see your face when I am dreaming.
That’s why I always wake up screaming.

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not.

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss.
But I only slept with you ’cause I was pissed.

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty and so is your head.

I want to feel your sweet embrace;
But don’t take that paper bag off your face.

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes
Damn, I’m good at telling lies!

My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

My feelings for you no words can tell.
Except for maybe ‘Go to hell.’

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.

Secret Santa Setup

Look, jackholes, this is supposed to be Rosetta’s gig, but as he’s one of the only Hostages left still gainfully employed, he sloughed this off on me. Whore.

The best part of Christmas isn’t spending time with friends and family and celebrating the savior of the world and all that. It’s getting free shit in the mail.

I love getting packages (SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH) in the mail.

So here’s the deal. We’re gonna do a Secret Santa this year and you’ll participate and you’ll fucking like it. It will run smoothly, and YOU WILL NOT FUCK THIS UP. Unless you get tapped to give Wiser a gift. Then you get to fuck it all the way up its poop chute.

You: Send me an email with your nickname here, your real meatspace name, and a valid mailing address. You may wish to include you phone number as well.  DEADLINE IS NOVEMBER 30TH!!!!

Me: I promise not to turn anyone in for the reward on felony warrants.

Me: I’ll put the list in a hat and have dolly pull names out to randomly match you with another Hostage. I’ll email that participant with your contact info, and they’ll send you free shit. That’s the good news. The bad news is I’ll also send  you the name of some asshole who will expect you to spend  NO MORE THAN $20 on them, and mail it to them.

Questions? STFU AND PUT IT IN AN EMAIL! Which, since you’re asking, is bariejr AT gmail DOT com. If you can’t figure that out, you’re too dumb to play. But any other questions, I’ll be happy to try to answer.

n00bs: You’re welcome to join in. Encouraged, even. Lurkers, guess you better delurk next year.

Karma’s A Bitch, No?

In The Spirit Of Today

Somehow, this song seems appropriate (and shut up if you don’t like this version):

I have been waiting for this moment for damn near two years. And I will not be disappointed.

I have more to add, but it shall come in the next day or so. But vote. Tell the left to get fisteryfucked so hard and wide, a goatse could come along and not scrape the sides of their collective anuses for what they have done and want to do. Then celebrate tonight, knowing that the battle renews tomorrow.

Proposition 8 1/2

It’s official!!! One trillion hits!!!

Woo hoo!  Obama maths — it’s good for everyone.

No one who earns less than $250.00 per year will have to buy me beers.

But seriously, a million hits and a thousand posts both occurred yesterday.  Kinda cool. Especially since this is the do over blog.  We were at about 900,000 at H1 before it got blowed up.

So, my minions, I’m going to celebrate the best way I know how.  With a song…

Peace.