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Tag Archives: prostitute
… To Get To The Nail Salon
Shove it in your facehole like it was a wealthy black man’s cock in an adult book store in Cleveland, you faggot! Stop thinking about it ending up on your hips, your skirt will still fit. There’s goddamned rabbit food all over it. Stop thinking at all, and eat it like it’s Strawberry Shortcake’s pussy a la mode. Or if that doesn’t do it for you, you mincing little coward, think of it as Mayor McCheese’s quarter-pounder on a bun. I’ll bet you break down in sobs at the sight of a spicy nugget. You nauseating, douche-nozzle sucking lady boy. It’s your goddamned lunch! It’s yours, and I saw that chubby little whore at the other register eyeballing it. You gonna let that chubby little whore eat the lunch that, by all rights, belongs to you? I remember a time when a real man would swallow a live chicken whole. Now you mother-bred sissies, in your pink Lacoste shirts and your cruelty free face creams, can’t even swallow a pattied-out piece of synthetic fowl with a generous slathering of mayo lube and your boyfriends to chew it up for you. When your wife finds out you’re too craven to consume an animal that’s been killed, phosphorylated, and breaded for you, she’s going to leave you for the paunchy asthmatic model train enthusiast that lives next door…
A Disturbing Trend
By Dan Rice I have something to say. I know that this football season has been tough, and at times heartbreaking, for all of us. I’m writing this note in response to a more and more frequently occurring trend. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Your team runs an 8 man blitz against a team that won’t let the quarterback throw the ball. Your team throws a winning record away by losing 2 or 3 straight expected wins. Your team blows a 4th quarter 17 point lead to a hated rival. So what have some of you been saying in response? I. Give. Up. I give up on my coach, on my offensive linemen, on my quarterback, on my defensive secondary. I give up on my team. I’m looking for a new one. I have friends that like the Steelers, the Packers, the Patriots, the Bengals. I’ll just root for them. Heresy. Look, I want to be clear. I don’t like your team. I probably hate them. I want to see your quarterback cry. But do you know why? Because I love my team. Get it? Loving your team isn’t about having a winning record. It’s not about how many superbowl rings you have. It’s about losing your mind over every first down. Standing up on 4th and goal. Screaming over every blown call and missed opportunity. It’s about having your heart broken over and over and then coming back for more. Because if you don’t, you’re a tourist. You know what makes you a fan? Loyalty. And the whole reason you’re upset in the first place is because you really, truly, deeply give a shit. You hate that they didn’t win, didn’t make that play. You’re pissed because you care. This is my team’s history. And it’s not even the … Finish reading this sumbitch!
Nuggets For Sluts Outreach Initiative
New Feature: A soundtrack to enhance your reading experience. Just open the link in another tab on your browser and enjoy the totally relevant song whilst enjoying the article. Today’s soudtrack. For the sake of our nation’s unplanted waves of fertile uteri, responsible, concerned, white, male Congressmen decided last week to selflessly put aside the debt and unemployment issues they really wanted to be talking about, and focus on what really matters: baby makin’. The problem? We are not doing enough of it, and all these rubber gadgets and magic pills are not helping. Did you know condoms are sometimes made out of the skin of sheep? What’s next? Kitten intestine lampshades? I smell an unmissable opportunity for a Hitler comparison. Let’s watch: Sandra Fluke, a student at Georgetown Law School, was supposed to be the Democratic witness at a Congressional hearing about the Obama administration’s contraception policy. However, Darrell “Sweet Mel” Issa, the committee chair at the hearing, prevented her from speaking, while only allowing a series of men to testify about the policy. (Huffpost, more or less) Hunny, the men are talking. Steak and BJ Day (ladies) is right around the corner. Maybe you should be loosening your jaw, or practicing char vs. warm pinkness ratio (sweet, that actually works both ways). You can throw the practice steaks to homeless people if you want, hippie. We got you that nice sheer dressing gown for V-day. You liked that right? What the hell do women of child-bearing age even know about contraception anyway? God gave us male politicians so you don’t have to hurt yourself with thinking. Your turn, Rushizzle. Tell the bitch. “What does it say about the college co-ed Susan Fluke [sic] who goes before a congressional committee and essentially says that she must be paid to … Finish reading this sumbitch!