You Gotta Be Shittin’ Me

HHD

Welcome to another edition of Hunky Hump Day.
One of his big hits, but it doesn’t seem to get as much airplay as the others. RIP, Little Richard.

Now for the hunks.

Tears for Memes

Thorsday Substitute Poat

Since Jimbro is off in the mountains receiving a heavy load from some shady contractor, I’ve agreed to put up a poat.  The old one was smelling worse than your mom after Fleet Week.  We haven’t had a rip-roaring, honest-to-God hurt feelings fight on this blog in far too long, so let’s talk about music.

So, I’m about two weeks out from leaving my job, and by the time you read this I will hopefully have an offer for a new job outside of California.  Even if I don’t, I’m still leaving this state.  And that means one thing… ROADTRIP!  For the past nine months I’ve driven 45-75 minutes each way up to Santa Barbara each day for work.  Obviously, spending that much time on the road means listening to the radio a lot.  Thank the gods for Pandora, and Youtube on my phone.  So I thought I’d put together a list of some of my favorite songs to listen to while driving.  I decided to limit it to ten songs, about what I used to burn on a CD before a long road-trip.  Obviously there are others, but if I had to pick ten to listen to for a couple of hours in parts of the country where the only radio stations are messican polka and the baptist station... the mixture below would be my top choice. Yeah, some of them are covers, but they’re better than the originals for keeping me awake and focused while on the road.

MMM 289: F*ck the commies, get some work done today

Seriously.  The only real way to protest a holiday is to ignore it or substitute a new meaning.  If the regressive left can ignore Columbus Day and celebrate conquered peoples and turn Christmas into Giftmas, I say we can turn Labor Day on its head.  If you can work, take shifts and wear an anti-commie t-shirt while you do it.  If not, work like hell around the house getting ready for winter.

Or, you know, just fire up the grill and drink some beer because you earned it.

Doing some hanging leg raises.

Big Borscht Friday

Russia, Russia, Russia! If I rolled my eyes like I want to, I would be able to see into my brain. It occurred to me a few days ago that my father in law insisted on joining me on a walk last November and started talking about the election. His theory was that Hillary had been harassed for 20 years and there has never been any evidence of a crime so all of the allegations must be bullshit. After I collected my jaw from the ground I muttered something like, ‘so what you’re saying is you have just eaten 10 space cakes and didn’t share any of them?’ Not true, I actually didn’t say anything because I don’t really talk about politics with anyone but my lovable internet family. But I can’t wait to use that line this Thanksgiving–he’ll tell me it doesn’t matter, Trump is actually a Russian spy, and I’ll say something like, ‘so what you’re saying is you’ve just eaten 10 sputnik cakes and didn’t share any of them?’

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Little Known Fact…Stalone invented Zumba

Keeping with our Russian theme, today’s model is from a former Eastern Bloc country or possibly Mother Russia herself. I mean, just look at her. She’s like 5″11, weighs 120 pounds, has tatas bigger than Red Square, and looks like Mr Bean. Please give a warm, stern looking nod of approval to Karin Spalnikova!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!11!!!!!1!!!

Obama II: Cockfacefuckaloo

That last word seems made up but it isn’t. If you search for it on the intertitty you’ll find a wealth of information.

So Obama is back, and this time going to kick ass and use cliches, and he’s all out of cliches. The world is stuck like a deer in the headlights of a sixteen wheel suck mobile, paralyzed at his magnificence–or so the media would have you believe.

The truth, harder than a diamond, and as difficult to swallow as a giant bitter pill is that only a few people actually care; rich old liberals and black women. The rest of us are just trying to get on with our lives. The days of our lives, even.

So please, do us a favor, oh God Emperor of the Early Release Television Series, go the fuck away. Obama could build a speech generator using the words, ‘world, future, change, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, let us, hope, and destiny,’ bridged together with terrible sentence formations and almost no one would notice. Just put up a cardboard cut out and play side A of the tape called ‘Flattering Rich Crackers’ then flip it over to side B, ‘I am Black Also, and Understand You.’

Save everyone else some time, dickface. If we wanted to be talked down to or bored to death we’d use bad grammar in a blog post and wait for Hotspur to show up.

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This man, right here, the one I’m pointing to…is a DICK!!!

Speaking of C**ts

So funny I bust my felt wiiiiiiddddeee open.

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.

RIP Rosetta, The Hardest Working Man on the Tittyweb Jenkins