Boiling my nipples.
Adding some RAM to my motherboard.
Plug-n-Play.
Backdoor Trojans. (Army of One came up with this one, props)
Come again.
Over-Under.
Rear-ending.
The names Jack, Dick, Gay, and Lester.
Rubber nipples.
Petting my Chihuahua.
Anything described as Cream-Filled.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
JERK OFF DEMON
THEY SAY EVERYBODY HAS A GAURDIAN ANGEL BUT WHAT ABOUT A DEMONIC INFLUENCE. EACH DAY I WAKE UP AND JERK OFF BEFORE I GET READY FOR WORK. RIGHT AS I FINISH UP A SERIES OF WOMEN RUNS THROUGH MY MIND AND AS I ... WELL YOU KNOW I ALWAYS SAY, "I HOPE YOU GET CANCER!"
THE WORDS COME OUT IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT ACCENTS FROM MIDDLE EASTERN TO ORIENTAL BUT ALL WITHIN THE SAME EPISODE OF JERKING OFF. SOMETIMES I SING IT BUT ALWAYS WITH AN ACCENT. WHEN ITS OVER THERE IS A ROSCOE FROM DUKES OF HAZARD LAUGH FOLLOWED BY AN EVIL WUUUHAHAHAH.... IM PRETYY SURE EVERYBODY DOES THIS TO GET THE DAY STARTED. DEMONIC INFLUENCE OR JUST AWESOME?
THE WORDS COME OUT IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT ACCENTS FROM MIDDLE EASTERN TO ORIENTAL BUT ALL WITHIN THE SAME EPISODE OF JERKING OFF. SOMETIMES I SING IT BUT ALWAYS WITH AN ACCENT. WHEN ITS OVER THERE IS A ROSCOE FROM DUKES OF HAZARD LAUGH FOLLOWED BY AN EVIL WUUUHAHAHAH.... IM PRETYY SURE EVERYBODY DOES THIS TO GET THE DAY STARTED. DEMONIC INFLUENCE OR JUST AWESOME?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Post
Here's my post: Today, in the gym, I was changing and there was this fat-ass old guy with his distorted ass on the locker room bench, naked. That's it. Draw you own conclusion.
- Saul
- Saul
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
What happens if...
Finish that title!
What happens if...
you take a 1000 mile guilt trip to a pity party?
What happens if...
you take a 1000 mile guilt trip to a pity party?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Regrets
All right you fucknuts, here are some of my regrets:
I regret forgetting my roots.
What are my roots? Here are my roots:
Crawling under the house to find the puppies.
Standing in the front yard pissing off the porch with the coyotes and wild dogs howling, me and Nate and my drunk-ass Pop.
Running scared-ass out to Pop's truck to fetch his cigarettes. Knuckers, I tell you, it takes a lot of ballsack to run through pitch dark one-hundred yards, worrying about stepping on copper heads and rattle snakes, hearing the dogs howl, to fetch some cancer sticks for a man who's gonna fart on you when you get back.
Devil went down to Georgia. Yeah. I've met the Devil. I beat his ass, left him crying on that hickory stump.
Standing in the back yard shooting AA batteries off a fence post with a .22 rifle.
Standing in the back yard shooting cans of beer off the fence post with a .22 rifle.
Metal spears, sharpened on a grinder, the real-mutherfucker, pierced into the tin on the shop and the barn and trees trees trees. Never killed a rabbit with one, not that we didn't try. Sharp mutherfuckers.
Dad beating our ass for shooting his beer and stabbing holes in his barn and shop and chasing the hogs with real-ass spears.
Dead hogs, hung up and bleeding.
Dead calves.
Shorty the bull. Frankie, the stunted cow. Pop was gonna butcher her, but Bro & I named her. Mom said, Keep the cow. The boys love her. She bore us a calf every year. We ate the calf. Her face was God's own.
Slopping the hogs with restaurant slosh.
Trading in Pop's beer cans for about $2,000,000 bucks.
Dead bunnies.
Cow pattie fights.
Fish fries.
Pellet gun wars. Man. Those fucking rocked. I don't mean those Red Rider one-cock jobs, either, I mean pellet guns. Rabbit killers. Squirrel killers. No pads. No helmets. No goggles. You dodge or get fucking shot. One pump rules got dumped when one asshole pumped it ten times. If you don't understand that comment, then there's no sense explaining it to you.
Running across the round bales.
Climbing the barn.
Hay forts.
I could cross a barbed wire fence as easy as you can open your bedroom door.
Dogs under the porch.
Brush hogs and round bailers and square bailers.
My roots.
God, I miss em. I'm in a suburb in Dallas.
And God, He's laughing and shaking His head. I'm a boxer dancing ballet, a fisherman cleaning fish tanks, a writer banging out emails. I'm nothing I was meant to be.
I forgot my roots.
- Saul
I regret forgetting my roots.
What are my roots? Here are my roots:
Crawling under the house to find the puppies.
Standing in the front yard pissing off the porch with the coyotes and wild dogs howling, me and Nate and my drunk-ass Pop.
Running scared-ass out to Pop's truck to fetch his cigarettes. Knuckers, I tell you, it takes a lot of ballsack to run through pitch dark one-hundred yards, worrying about stepping on copper heads and rattle snakes, hearing the dogs howl, to fetch some cancer sticks for a man who's gonna fart on you when you get back.
Devil went down to Georgia. Yeah. I've met the Devil. I beat his ass, left him crying on that hickory stump.
Standing in the back yard shooting AA batteries off a fence post with a .22 rifle.
Standing in the back yard shooting cans of beer off the fence post with a .22 rifle.
Metal spears, sharpened on a grinder, the real-mutherfucker, pierced into the tin on the shop and the barn and trees trees trees. Never killed a rabbit with one, not that we didn't try. Sharp mutherfuckers.
Dad beating our ass for shooting his beer and stabbing holes in his barn and shop and chasing the hogs with real-ass spears.
Dead hogs, hung up and bleeding.
Dead calves.
Shorty the bull. Frankie, the stunted cow. Pop was gonna butcher her, but Bro & I named her. Mom said, Keep the cow. The boys love her. She bore us a calf every year. We ate the calf. Her face was God's own.
Slopping the hogs with restaurant slosh.
Trading in Pop's beer cans for about $2,000,000 bucks.
Dead bunnies.
Cow pattie fights.
Fish fries.
Pellet gun wars. Man. Those fucking rocked. I don't mean those Red Rider one-cock jobs, either, I mean pellet guns. Rabbit killers. Squirrel killers. No pads. No helmets. No goggles. You dodge or get fucking shot. One pump rules got dumped when one asshole pumped it ten times. If you don't understand that comment, then there's no sense explaining it to you.
Running across the round bales.
Climbing the barn.
Hay forts.
I could cross a barbed wire fence as easy as you can open your bedroom door.
Dogs under the porch.
Brush hogs and round bailers and square bailers.
My roots.
God, I miss em. I'm in a suburb in Dallas.
And God, He's laughing and shaking His head. I'm a boxer dancing ballet, a fisherman cleaning fish tanks, a writer banging out emails. I'm nothing I was meant to be.
I forgot my roots.
- Saul
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
So I...
So I took a Tylenol PM and then drank a half bottle of wine and watched ZOMBIELAND.
And I'm STILL wired so tight I feel tethered to the moon.
What the hell's wrong with me.
I need a mancation, bros, bad.
- Saul
And I'm STILL wired so tight I feel tethered to the moon.
What the hell's wrong with me.
I need a mancation, bros, bad.
- Saul
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Pointless Rant
All right, I just got kicked in the knickers for sending out a terse email.
In a nicer way I said: DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!
Yeah, they didn't like that one. For six months I've been saying that, nicely.
Please do your job, I'd say.
Isn't this something you should be more worried about, I'd say.
Who owns this? I'd say.
Well, you're just telling me what the problem ~isn't~. Can anyone tell me what the problem ~is~?
Silence.
Okay. Fast-forward to March 2010.
DO YOUR FUCKING JOB! I said.
That got their attention.
Bossman, he call me into he office and he say, Dude, what the hell you doing? Why you so mean in your email?
Did it gets they attention? I say.
Sho nuff, he say. All the way to the top.
Good. Missions FUCKING accomplished.
(And the crowd roars!)
Methinks they's a beer in my future at lunchtime. Not really. That's a rumor. I'd never be drinking on work hours. That's illegal, yo.
- Saul
In a nicer way I said: DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!
Yeah, they didn't like that one. For six months I've been saying that, nicely.
Please do your job, I'd say.
Isn't this something you should be more worried about, I'd say.
Who owns this? I'd say.
Well, you're just telling me what the problem ~isn't~. Can anyone tell me what the problem ~is~?
Silence.
Okay. Fast-forward to March 2010.
DO YOUR FUCKING JOB! I said.
That got their attention.
Bossman, he call me into he office and he say, Dude, what the hell you doing? Why you so mean in your email?
Did it gets they attention? I say.
Sho nuff, he say. All the way to the top.
Good. Missions FUCKING accomplished.
(And the crowd roars!)
Methinks they's a beer in my future at lunchtime. Not really. That's a rumor. I'd never be drinking on work hours. That's illegal, yo.
- Saul
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
More mixed cliches
- There was a fox in the henhouse. So the chickens flew the coop, and later, after the cows came home, the chickens returned to the roost.
- I'm looking forward to my next Freudian Slip.
- Dot your Is, cross your Ts, mind your Ps and Qs, and remember to err is human.
- Hold your tongue. Shut your trap. Silence is golden.
- Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power.
- I beat him like a red herring stepchild.
- Low man on the totem pole has an ass above him.
- Patience is a virtue. Time is of the essence.
- You know what gets my goat? Goats.
- He was out on a limb, and up the wrong tree.
- It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play. Winning is everything.
- Midstream, I changed to a horse of a different color.
- He jumped her bones of contention.
- Let sleeping dogs lie like a rug.
- Mark my lips: No death and taxes.
- Your two cents aren't worth a dime.
- He's a kiss-ass of death.
- I'm gonna keep a stink-eye on you.
- I knocked it out of the park, but couldn't get past first base.
- Saul
- I'm looking forward to my next Freudian Slip.
- Dot your Is, cross your Ts, mind your Ps and Qs, and remember to err is human.
- Hold your tongue. Shut your trap. Silence is golden.
- Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power.
- I beat him like a red herring stepchild.
- Low man on the totem pole has an ass above him.
- Patience is a virtue. Time is of the essence.
- You know what gets my goat? Goats.
- He was out on a limb, and up the wrong tree.
- It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play. Winning is everything.
- Midstream, I changed to a horse of a different color.
- He jumped her bones of contention.
- Let sleeping dogs lie like a rug.
- Mark my lips: No death and taxes.
- Your two cents aren't worth a dime.
- He's a kiss-ass of death.
- I'm gonna keep a stink-eye on you.
- I knocked it out of the park, but couldn't get past first base.
- Saul
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