I’ve been kinda busy – gotta leave in a minute or two for a business thing, but figured I’d vomit something up which that little felt bastidge can stomp – OR that the amazing and talented hostess extraordinaire Carin can modify/update to make it passable for this chat room ———-
Carin warming up?
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.
Hello office twerkers, and welcome to Big Boob Friday.
Your model for today is a 20 year old French woman, model and law student. Please stop cross-fitting and welcome, Miss Audray de Macedo!
And so we find ourselves with one foot on the dock and one on the boat.
There was a time when both men and women regularly wore hats. As a kid I remember some older men wearing hats but over the years they’ve faded away. I didn’t play baseball as a kid and I sure as hell would have looked like a tool walking around with a football helmet on so I wore bandanas when I worked in the yard, hiked and went running. After I discovered that there were hat sizes courtesy of the US Army I was finally able to buy a fitted Red Sox cap which I promptly lost in a topless Jeep on 495 heading back from Cape Cod.
Probably the only hats I see nowadays are the ubiquitous baseball hat and, in the winter, stocking caps for warmth. Folks in the Midwest and Texas are used to seeing people wearing cowboy hats. In New England, if you wear a cowboy hat and are not riding a horse (or Mare) at the same time, you are a douche.
The whole reason I’m thinking of hats is an image I saw while surfing the internet. It is Lena Olin, kneeling over a mirror wearing lingerie and a man’s hat. It is from a scene in a movie based on the book “The Unbearable Lightness of Being“. I read the book on the recommendation of a girl who gave me a great hummer after I broke off my engagement with another girl. I figured it was the least I could do. Anyway, I totally forget what the book is about but remember it was an okay read.
This image ended up on the wall in the men’s room at a bar called Ralph’s in Worcester, MA along with hundreds of other random clippings from magazines that were used for wallpaper by someone who liked decorating bathrooms. Someone had written, with ballpoint pen, “I fucked her titz (sic)” and signed it Fitz. During the 10 years I lived in that town I’d say I went to Ralph’s about 100 times and drank between 200-300 pints of beer there. Over that time the IfuckedhertitzFitz girl greeted me every time I drained my bladder. Who knows, maybe she still greets drunkards to this day.
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