Do me a favor, would you? Go into the bathroom or your bedroom or look down at your shoe and give yourself a long look in the mirror. Try to look a little disappointed, and say this out loud, ‘I will never be a as good of a person as Lauraw. Not if I invented a time machine and prevented Barak Hussein Obama from becoming president. Not if I found and convinced Mila Kunis to spend an evening with MJ. Not if I opened a weed farm and put MJ in charge of quality control. There is nothing I can do to be funnier or more thoughtful that Lauraw.
So I’m currently in Spain after spending the week in Baumholder, Germany. One of the perks of the job is that we go to military bases worldwide and do on the ground data collection, including interviews with local realtors. One of the downsides of the job is that we have to go to military bases worldwide and do on the ground data collection, including interviews with local realtors. It’s normally cool, but sucks when the base is located in a backwater next to nothing but small towns and the locals don’t speak English. But luckily I don’t have to do an assessment of Fort Polk this year.
Leon linked to Alton Brown’s announcement, so I thought I’d link to this. I’m just gonna sit here and geek out for a minute. Maybe after that I’ll hit the gym. I could try crossfit.
As I’m sure you are all aware president Obama is set to make his big comeback to the US and public life after pretending to write his memoirs on a mega yacht with Oprah and Tom Hanks (WILSON!!!!!!!). Here’s an excerpt of his first draft that will be later turned into dramatic prose by a little known college professor and spontaneous combustion enthusiast.
Chapter 1
Barack’s version: Sat down to watch a rerun of SportCenter at 11 after calling SlowJoe and a quick workout with Mooch. Fell asleep. Woke up during the nooner of SC just in time to see Venus Williams winning some white shit tourney for the third time. Man, what an ass. I’d like to put a Mike Tyson mask on her and lay into them hindquarters. Trump sucks! San Demus High School rules!
Ayers version:Five Nine score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.
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)?
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.
I tried to find sexy pictures of Meghan McCain but it appears she’s just too fat for it. Consider yourselves lucky that you didn’t have to peer at the fat boobed bishface this afternoon. In her place, I give you the medium boobed Hunter Leigh!!!!one!!!!!!one!!!!!! Could you put your gentlemans sausage between her mammary glands? Yes. Would you lose your gentlemans sausage between her mammary glands? No. I blame no one because if you tried you’re a winner.
I wrote this song after listening to The Doors, ‘This is the End.’ I either down tuned the guitar or decided that A flat and E are good chord progressions. Not sure. I’ll figure it out this afternoon when I should be working. It’s a pretty big rip off, but I know Car in will appreciate it.
Today’s model is a dirty fucking liar. After doing extensive research it appears that her hair color isn’t natural. The drapes don’t match the curtains, IYKWIMAITYD. I guess it’s possible to have a black landing strip and red hair. **applies for government grant** Anyhoo, please stop shooting unarmed black 50 year old teenagers and welcome Lucy Collett!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Michigan is a weird place. Some of you may have gathered that from listening to the endless posts about something called Keno (I think it’s a money laundering scheme for a crackfat addiction), or the odd fascination with overly muscled former women, or the Rainman like reputations of ‘your mom’ jokes (still funny).
It’s like they haven’t quite figured out if they’re South Canada or the North United States. Everyone is super nice, but they’re still flaming racists. They enjoy Tim Horton’s and hockey, but also Ford and GM. Michigan is a study in contradictions.
Which leads me to the one perfect example of how they have merged two cultures and embraced the SCNUS community college football team…The Dickbutts.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes but when I visited Hotspur a few weeks ago (Car in was busy working the Keno scheme and Leon was at a Brony convention) I was a bit surprised to see the Dickbutt logo on his shirt. He patiently explained to me that the Dickbutts were the new mascot of South Canada North United States community college football team and that the whole region was Dickbutt wild.
I was aghast. I was certain that he was pulling my leg.
But as I cocked my head and gave him a disbelieving look, he pointed to the ceiling of the ghetto bar. Leon can back me up on this; the ceiling is covered in local team logos. And there it was. The SCNUS Dickbutt. Incontrovertible proof that the Dickbutts are real and ready for next season. Continue reading →
As I mentioned yesterday, we have a bit of problem here at the house.
For some reason, when they’re having their way with your home, they aren’t so cute.
And it may be worse that I thought. Some video …
You can be sure that I am NOT going to take this lying down.
So far, the O’Brien killing field (AKA, the garbage bag in the garage) has 13 corpses in 2 days.
But with an outbreak such as this, I feel the need to take preventative action.
Meet the Enforcer:
She/he/it definitely has future mouse carnage on his/her/it’s mind in this picture:
But wait?!? What’s that over there??!!!!! OMG, it’s ANOTHER ONE. IT’S ANOTHER INFESTATION.
An infestation of CUTENESS.
This brings the O’Brien household cat total to 3, but given that there are 7 family members, the person-to-cat quotient is well within acceptable parameters.
Cosmo is NOT pleased with the additions:
He only has himself to blame. The mice … and don’t even get me STARTED on all the chipmunks in my garden. Yes, he brought this on himself.
I’ll tell you, I had to turn the Olympics off last night. The gay overload with the gay flags and gayness and the gay skier and the all about gay was too much for me. How does being gay have ANYTHING to do with skiing unless you’re purposefully landing on a pole?
