Happy Independence Day

Good morning, my friends. Your liberal professors and in-the-tank media keep trying to tell us how awful our country is, but at the end of the day, people still want to be here, still want to become citizens (waves at Tushar), still know in their hearts that Reagan was right. A sincere thank you to all who serve and who have protected this way of life.


Now go grill some meat and blow shit up.
Thank you for your attention, and y’all have a good day.

Tuesday on Tittyweb Jenkins

WAKEY WAKEY.

 

Sorry that my promised, and highly anticipated poat is more of an afternoon delight, but I had shit to do.

 

Mostly, I had to purchase QOTSA Cats fucking in a closet tickets.    And I got AWESOME seats.   Aren’t you all excited?

 

Whatever bitches.

 

Highly Recommend

Hi weirdos. Here are a few things I would like to rate as a hostage:

 

TNT flooring: Meth heads that pretend to be Jesus freaks so you’ll trust them with your really big job that they swear is going to be just perfect. Will they work more than a few hours a day? No. Will they smoke meth in your house? Yes. Will you need to have the floor completely removed and done by someone else? Yes. Will the meth heads remind you of someone but you can’t quite place them? Yes.

Sweet Wonderful People

I got some things in the mail recently. You gotta see these. First, MJ sent me a graduation present.

BBF

Hello hair-pullers, and welcome to Big Boob Friday.

Did you know this is Rob Schneider’s daughter?  He must be very proud.

Your model is a food writer, journalist and broadcaster known for her popular cooking and lifestyle shows on British television.  She was born January 6th, 1960 into the upper class family of Nigel Lawson (now Baron Lawson of Blaby) a Conservative politician who was Chancellor of the Exchequer under Margaret Thatcher’s cabinet.  She stands 5’7″ tall, sports some 32G sized jumper pads and weighs in around 10.5 stone. Please stop trying to be someone else and say hello to Ms. Nigella Lawson.

Fuck These Fucking Fucks, FFS

 

So here we are, 100 days into the glorious reign of the God Emperor Donaldus Trump II.

Is America great again? No, but its early. Like you, my patience is about as thin as Mare’s Whoreday panties and I do not trust a single person that is connected to Washington DC.

 

The Bad

Repeal/Replace–May the RINOs of the senate be rushed to the ER with a lightbulb stuck in their collective asses. Upon removal they may find a bright idea, such as repeal/replace. It’s not complicated, assholes.

The budget–May the Freedom Caucus step on their dicks with golf shoes for having the temerity to sink repeal/replace only to turn around and fund PP for the rest of the fiscal year.

 

The Good

Border crossings are down 70+% based solely on a mean look from the based cheeto god. My suggestion is that he get a teardrop tattoo on his cheek then watch the number climb to 90%.

The world seems to think we might be crazy enough to kick ass and drink Diet Coke. They also seem to believe we are running low on Diet Coke.

Neil Fucking Gorsuch.

Serious note–people seem to be more optimistic about the future. I don’t really talk politics much in public but I don’t feel the weight of the pessimism that is being pushed by the media. Things seem good, which may be a reflection on where I live and how life is going, but it really matters when the people at the top are confident of success rather than dead set on decline. We’ve been told to eat our veggies for so long that a delicious taco bowl (we have the best taco bowl’s, don’t we folks?) seems like manna from heaven. It’s just taco Tuesday, but goddamn that seems like a fine idea.

The Ugly

The media and the DNC (Hillary/Obama wing) are pushing some really dangerous shit. The ridiculousness of RUSSIA! and the attempt to subvert a presidency that simply out hustled a terrible politician is going to escalate quickly. And when it does, they’ll blame Trump. They don’t care that people will be hurt, in fact I believe it’s the desired state to wave a bloody shirt.

I’m not really sure who has the ear of the President. I like Ivanka and Jared and I really like the tax plan that was put out but see Mare’s threadbare Whoreday undies referenced above for my trust levels. Jury is out on the D’s in the White House. 

Goofy Shit is Endearing. Fuck Being ‘Too Cool’ Like Obama

 

 

 

 

This Post Has No Content/Puppah poat

 

A picture, such as this, will have to wait.   Elsie must be HELD constantly at this point, and Moose pretty much wants to sniff her all over and over and over. Drooling while he does it.

Not just yet

 

Here she is.   Snuggled up to my leg when I put her on the ground.

 

She is TINY.    Sweet as can be. Snuggles right in really deep.

 

 

Que Onda, Dicking Bimbos?

Hola bishes. Long time no escribo.

This is a 100% true story that is completely, honestly, 100% on the level with the truth. Estoy siendo honesto, punta maricones. I wouldn’t lie to anyone.

Anonche, en mi cama, I had a vision of a delicious cocktail. Was it the first signs of a budding addiction (it wasn’t)? Was it an implanted memory from our conversation last night (not likely)? Was it a reaction to a brain that will never quite shut off (possibly)? First symptoms of syphilis contracted from your mom (bingo)?

The answer is yes. Never mind what’s in the parenthesis. As you know from watching CNN they like to make sure that headlines are correctomundo as they interpret. But I digress.

What was this sueno de grandeza? It’s the cocktail to end all cocktails. A swanky, frothy, cream filled bananalicious, stripper referencing libation named the Dicking Bimbo!

Grab yourself a blender and get busy with this recipe:

1 oz vanilla or cake flavored vodka

.5 oz brandy

.5 oz banana liqueur (99 bananas is the best)

1 large, phallic banana

2 oz whipping cream

dash cinnamon

ice

Put everything in your addiction mixer and whip it up! It tastes a little like bananas foster, but with a kick. Alcohol content: 6.8 chads. Stripper names: 2.

Sunday birthday poat

No, I have not forgotten what today is, but here’s a little respite.
Happy birthday to Osoloco, Colorado Alex, and ORPO (a regular XBradTC reader, not sure he lurks here).


Mare?

And finally…

Carry on.

Birthday Wish – Don’t be a dick

Happy Birthday Aprilwine.

*

*

So, yeah.  Not so great of a week.  I’d like to thank Wiserbud for yesterdays poat, and to encourage all the returning commenters to put H2 back on your daily reading list and comment a little more often.  Except for Doc.  Fuck that guy.

Nestled between Erica Campbell’s boobs and your mom jokes, Sean M. had a comment that struck me as worthy of highlighting and quoting, I hope he doesn’t mind:

Comment by Sean M. on April 16, 2016 12:18 am

Tush,

There is a line in a book that has helped to save my life which gives me comfort in times like these, where I can’t see the sense of a thing. It says, “…out of every season of grief or suffering, when the hand of God seemed heavy or even unjust, new lessons for living were learned, new resources of courage were uncovered, and that finally, inescapably, the conviction came that God does ‘move in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.’”

What that tells me is that everything happens for a reason, and though we may not be able to see that reason right now, maybe we’re supposed to learn something eventually. Or maybe we’re not supposed to have someone or something in our lives anymore because something needs to happen.

I know that this has given me the firm determination to be kinder to the people in my life and to tell them that I am always there for them. I know that this has led me to talk to people who are hurting or struggling, to tell them that it’s okay to reach out so that they don’t have to suffer alone. Maybe these are things that we all needed a reminder to do, or to do more often. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to take this horrible, awful, shitty fucking tragedy and try to see that something, however small, but something good comes out of it.

/$0.02

Thank you, Sean, for sharing.  I encourage everybody reading this to please take care of yourselves and know that:

THE HOSTAGES ARE HERE FOR YOU.

There are invisible hands reaching out to you.  I’m begging you, with tears in my eyes, don’t be a dick.  Use the power of this fully operational invisible friend machine.  I’ve seen Hostages race to the rescue with generosity that is astounding.  It may take some humility on your part.  I get that.  But if we don’t know, we can’t help.