Drove across southern Michigan on Sunday to see Grandma for her 94th birthday, and on the way back it was through a rather awful sleet storm with high winds. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die on I-94 someday. Also it’s still Winter, because global warming.
I want to…
Hello body surfers and Leon, and welcome to the no-extra-points addition of Big Boob Friday.
Mrs. Buffalone has an AP on her phone called Spottify, and she’s been going crazy making play lists and downloading songs. I’m not sure if the AP is worth a monthly fee, or where she got today’s selection, but I dig it baby, yeah.
We are going to re-visit one of my BBF favorites, since I’ve been having so much trouble finding new talent I’m not sleeping well at night.
Your model for today was born in Columbia, South Carolina on January 23rd, 1992. At 5’1″ and 105 pounds, she measures 32-27-35 and wears a sporty GG cup which I’m guessing stands for great god almighty look at those things. Please stop thinking only of your own pleasure long enough to welcome again, Miss Tessa Fowler!
Because he’s a fucking idiot. No, seriously, he has proven himself to be really, really stupid. I’m talking “should be required to have people assigned to him to keep him from eating his own feces” stupid.
It’s been a nice year since we both agreed to stop talking about politics… or anything. He broke that agreement the other day. I knew I shouldn’t have engaged him, but he just refuses to shut the fuck up and I have to be there and listen.
Among the many topics that he chose to “enlighten” me on Tuesday night was, of course, global warming. I mentioned, in passing, that I would like to see someone explain why the climate models that people seem to treat as The Word of God don’t seem to be matching with reality, as evidenced by the current 18+year pause in warming.
“That’s not true.” – he says.
Today, this 25 day of March in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand Fifteen, the lights will darken on that special place in the interwebs and our hearts:
Thank you for the good reading, the fun, the laughter, and the memories.
I only wish I’d have commented more… but sometimes, commenting is hard.
L to R: H2, IB
Who wants candy? Or more appropriately, who wants to know what the hell I’ve been prattling on about for the past few weeks? Follow below the fold for a full explanation of what I’m obsessed with as of late.
But first, let’s do a little music. I wrote this song in the 90s while I was in a group called Marcy’s Playground. We were going to call it Sheryl Anderson’s Playground but it just didn’t have the same ring so we went with the clueless slit licker from the Peanuts.
It’s late. I should be in bed an hour ago. I’m not really awake now. Maybe neither are you. Maybe it’s all a dream or possibly an elaborate hoax. Maybe all of this, and everyone, and everything, is just a lie pulled over your eyes, mind, and soul to keep you from the real world. You know, the one that makes sense. You’ll never get to live there. You’re stuck here. Maybe you’re here with the rest of us, maybe none of us are real at all.
Let’s start with a little music…
I’m not old enough to remember SDJ but if any of you ever thought this freak ‘o nature was cool, you’re dead to me. How was this a number one song in 1972? I can’t even. I don’t even. I just…I don’t…I just…eh.
1 oz Malibu
1 oz white creme de cacao
1 oz Frangelico
Do the Michael J Fox, then pour into a glass rimmed with coconut and chocolate.
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It seems that Brent’s SS gift was used as an anger management tool by someone at the post office and he received it almost completely shattered, just like your dreams and wishes for a happy prosperous life. Somehow, he connived the seller into sending him a replacement and wants to extend a big “Thank You” to his Secret Santa.
2014 BCochran SS Gift – FINALLY!