There's a smell in my house-
(Where is it?)
There's a smell in my house-
(What is it?)
There's a smell in my house-
(Who is it?)
Now I remember that I shit in my pants.
"Parsnips. Parsnips. Parsnips!"
"A lux is defined as a lumen per meter squared!"
"I hope it's a girl."
"Daddy did it that way too!"
"Oh, the gaping maw that is your vagina reminds me of Admiral Akbar breathing!"
"You are sofa king we Todd Ed!"
"I'm getting a pap smear on Monday!"
Danny drinks heavily his Jagermeister, with whom he shares with none,
due to his insistence
on creating the largest liver in the northern hemisphere-
He smokes heavily his Marlboro's, I think, due to his insistence
on contracting the black lung like so many West Virginia coalminers-
His gait is fairly effeminate, which is why, one would presume, that he imbibes and inhales heavily his Jagermeister and Marlboro's-
In order to obfuscate the taste of cock.
On this day in 1974, William Devane ordered an unsweetened iced tea with lemon-wedge and a tuna melt on whole wheat toast.
Those whom were present claim that he was not displeased with the sumptuous repast laid before him.
This has been another edition of This Day in William Devane History.
It is a matter of course that an intelligent person will occasionally muse upon the existence of a being of higher power than themself. The obvious corollary is that the intelligent person in question will also muse upon the non-existence of said being.
And with questions such as these slowly traversing across his steppe-like mind, Taylor makes himself a grilled cheese sandwich.
They were in his other pants.
Super-mega-maximum-awesome is a term that describes something as being super-mega-maximum-awesome in nature.
For example: If you were to find your paramour's genitalia especially aesthetically pleasing, you might be inclined to say, "Damn, girl, your cunt is fine as fuck!"
But with the new term of "super-mega-maximum-awesome" nestled comfortably in your gentleman's lexicon holster, you can now quite regally state,
"There are those, my dear, that might proclaim your vagina to be wholesome. And there are those that might claim it to be rather handsome. But I am not one of those; therefore, I shall hereby announce for all present and future parties that your vagina is the representative monarchy of every single thing--including dark matter-- in the universe that is super-mega-maximum-awesome!"
And just like the prophet William Joel once caterwauled...
"Tell her about it. Tell her everything you feel. Tell her that her taco is
|Piddles and damnations to Murgatroyd! I left the Pepcid in my other sacrificial turban!|
Soylent Green Apple Quickstep
"Soylent Green Apple Quickstep is poo poo!"
Avast, ye Fat Man! How you've raped death!
Flick! Flick! You finger-fucker;
You abundance of negligible. Stare across the horizon of your imminent demise- bask in the shade-
The dirt molds between your toes.
How ankles must buckle under the gravity of your mass.
You flick! Flick again!
Incessant with your obsession, have you shame inside?
A hollow cunt you are-
Filling it. Filling with naked promise of another day of
Your maker lives atop a mountain Rocky-
Taste the cock of your maker! Guzzle His fluid-life killer!
Drenched in your own perishable skin-sack, upon a weeping heap of collapsing, creaking, beveling earth.
Your steps take an infinity stolen from finite time- your Lorentzian length expanding in proportion.
The residue of your breath insulates a Siberian hut.
Staring at the poltergeist of the Ace of Hearts- yours beats heavily;
Have you guilt? A life worth the definition?
Have ware that all ends are nigh- but some not soon enough.
Fare-thee-well, Fat Man!
"... and then we used our safety word."
"... and that's the last time I ate a chocolate bunny."
"... his face, covered with some sort of viscous fluid- like that scene in Ghostbusters."
"... smelling like a birthing wildebeest at noon in the dead of summer."
"... horseshoes, except with onion rings and a cock."
"... you know- the guy with stumps for hands who works at that Oriental massage parlor?"
"... and hold the placenta."
"... slips on it, falls flat on his ass onto Aunt Trudy's most favorite wombat, kills it, and then blames the Bolsheviks!"
"... how he got it all the way up there, I'll never know."
"... name him after Hitler."
"Revenge is a dish best served with bedroom eyes."
"Revenge is a dish best served at 40-Love."
"Revenge is a dish best served at an internal temperature of 165°."
"Revenge is a dish best served before midnight just in case there are Gremlins present."
"Revenge is a dish best served in interpretive dance."
"Revenge is a dish best served with a lovely side of sauteed shitaki mushrooms followed by a single white grape to cleanse the palette."
"Revenge is a dish best served by using Victor Borge's skull and kneecaps as vehicles for said revenge while being topped by a delicious FroYo."
"Revenge is a dish best served without bread so as not to fill you up before you've had your necessary portion of revenge."
You Can't Do That On Television Unless You're In Germany
Where In The Greater Metropolitan Des Moines Area Is Chastity Bono?
Everybody Poops: The Animated Series
Pinky And The Duodenum
Coast Guard Tom: Real High Seas Coward
Uncle Jack Kevorkian's Playhouse
Snuffleupagus' MAOI Inhibitor Fun Hour!
Smile Time With Satan!
Elderly Disfigured Al-Quaeda Emus
I am a blurred picture on a carton of spoiled milk resting upon a ziggurat of decaying rubbish.
My guffaw: neither true nor charming-
It is an overcast Cleveland.
From many evenings last to many evenings future,
I am there; forever will be.
I am a thermos without a lunchbox.
Put your arm around me-
let us steal this moment.
I will cherish it and many more; They are my skyward idols.
My heap is rummaged through by a starving and bed-less one.
His last breath stinks of ethanol. And inconsequence.
My alley: my home: my raison d'etre-
We are all here; or maybe just you and I.
All that there is is all that there is.
I ask for nothing more than more of all that there is.
I am in a technicolor prison atop discarded 8 tracks.
I am a smile for the camera.
There is no camera.
Away to the far-
I will travel light-
The Great Wall is a bunch of Legos.
I am a speck in the distance- a molecule orbiting nothing in the vastness of space,
But I am where I want to be-
Under a false umbrella-
pelted by the acid
and the rain.
I gaze around with eyes that sting;
A-look for anyone-
Anyone like me.
There are so many false umbrellas: So many like me.
We are all blurred pictures on cartons of spoiled milk.
What the fuck is that?
This tastes as though it would be best paired with a Bartles and James.
The finest pastries in all the land can be found at Stucky's.
Where's the shitter?
Anyone bring Moon Pies?
What a coinkydink! I once had my balls licked on this very table!
A round of "Huzzah's" to the chef for not a soul vomited up their meal!
Oh, no thank you. If I had another helping, my dick would fall off.
Bangers and mash, tee hee.
This traditional Navajo dish is exquisite. I now anoint you the "Iron Chief".
We call it maize, motherfucker.
I haven't been to one of these since I left the Donner's.
Don't mind me, I'm just here for the trim.