I have a buddy who's a graphic designer. And, a damn good one at that. He made these today for fun, and sent them to me at my office, for a little giggle. I wonder what Gary's hair smells like. Dwell on these:
I learned a valuable lesson this past weekend. Never go out for your average "Friday night of drinking" after you've just started taking a brand new medication. Because, apparently, you end up blackout drunk in your boxers, sitting on your buddy's couch, in front of like 6 of your friends, for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, I think I should just walk up to small children, point to myself, and say "Look at me!". Keep 'em on their toes. Show them what their kindergarten teacher really meant by saying, "You can be anything you want to be as long as you put your mind to it".
So, I've been thinking about Queefs a lot lately. And I gotta say, I'm perplexed. Who the fuck figured this out? This "Queefing on command", as they say. I mean can you imagine some chick walking around in Ancient Sumeria just popping those fuckers out and giggling. And then of course she teaches her sister, and then she teaches her friend, yadda-de-yadda. Then eventually thousands of years later the tradition is still passed on. As one of my middle school friends teaches the rest of our females friends how to "fart out the front", and a young Harry gets Queefed on at the pool. A bare-legged queef, with no shame.
Thanks a ton, Ancient Sumerian Queef Queen. Because of you I have experienced something far more disturbing and disgusting than the food poisoning I got from the giant turkey leg, I ate at the fair in 7th grade.
If dudes could fart out of their urethra on command, we probably would. But just because we could, doesn't mean we should. Dwell on this.
I posed this question to my friend, just a few moments ago. He's a co-worker, but I still like him. In fact I like most of my co-workers. Anywhoo, I asked him what he would do if I "laid an egg" in the office. Just a big giant spotted Yoshi type egg. My friend Suzanne suggested I put it back into my butt to hatch it. Another co-worker suggested I have sex with it. I'm lying, the last one was me.
But what would you do, if you laid eggs? Rather, what if human's laid eggs? With tiny, tiny people inside. That were already fully developed, just not full size. As in, they're proportionate to a full grown male or female, just miniature. Like a circus pony.
I just now realize that the aforementioned "egg laying" could be misconstrued as taking a fat dump in the office place. Which is a dream of mine as well. Just come in one day, flip the fuck out, start screaming, and drop a stinky butt dragon on someone's keyboard. Dwell on this.
I have no wife. Nor is she preggers. BUT, this was something Suzanne said at lunch yesterday. I ate fucking three cheeseburgers yesterday (throughout it's course.) I'm disgusted and still full. Here's the thing, the way I figure is I can live unhealthy for like 3 more years and then I gotta shape up. Or else. Seriously, or else. I don't wanna wake up one day, AWOL from work for three days, to my friend Pete standing over me, while I'm morbidly obese, in a bath tub, squirting bottles and bottles of ketchup into my mouth, while screaming "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!". Actually, that's a lie. I kinda wanna do that. Just so I can be that guy.
Non-sequitor thought, Would you punch a porpoise if you could? Let's say just once, you could deck one of those adorable fuckers in the snout, would you have the heart? Would you want to be the only one of your friends to punch a friendly aquatic animal? I would ladies and gentlemen. I would.
Further more, I fucking hate Michael Bay. I hate him. But I'd sex up Meghan Fox. Also, fuck The Transformers (the movies, folks, the movies). Dwell on this.
The talking heads came on in the office just now. A vibrant little tune, perfect for shimmying. I remembered the days of yore. My golden years, as an All State Shimmy Shake Champion. Yes, my boob jiggle beat out every other competitor in the state. And, got me choke slammed by a lack-luster karaoke man. This is very true, he worked for some upper-middle-class aging white couples bar called "The Box Seat". Also he choke slammed me because he thought I was "retarded". Literally. And he didn't like my dancing. Douche.
On a side note, I've discovered something I feel that I need to do more often. And this is of course, besides bathing. I need to get really drunk with my friend Eric and watch Martial Arts films. Like, at least once a week.
Additionally, one thing I've discovered I should never do is roller-blade. This should never happen. Dwell on this.
I ate lunch with my friend Suzanne today. She was applying ketchup to her lips, as if it were lipstick, and was using a fry to do so. We made a pact, to stay as bitch white as we could, until we're in our 80's. Well, my 80's her 90's. Cause she's older. She has a kid. Her kid is my friend. We slide together sometimes.
What's "Bitch White" you ask? It's being absolutely fan-fucking-tastic everyday of your life, and doing so with a very, very, very, pale complexion. What do "Bitch White" people do? It's simple, we eat burgers and spit water out of our mouths. We're also known to discuss our "horny hours" throughout the day. As well as strategize our "prime sex points" and our "sexual game plans". The latter, often leads to violence. Sometimes, we sing jaunty tunes about walking back to work from resturants. We pretty much do whatever the fuck we want. Ya'll don't know us. Dwell on this.
I got my haircut, and everyone thinks I look like Ellen DeGeneres. And I'm fine with that. In fact, I'm absolutely okay with it. You see, like Ellen, I want millions of menopausal women to cling to every word I say, and obey my every command. That way, everyday would be like the ending of Batman Returns. Except, you'd have to swap out the penguins, for 50-something-year-olds, and exchange the rockets for hot flashes. Just one man's dream... Dwell on this.
symptoms include a yellowish discharge from the penis, associated with painful, and sometimes frequent, urination. Symptoms can develop from two to thirty days after infection. A few percent of infected men have no symptoms. The infection may move into the prostate, seminal vesicles, and epididymis, causing pain and fever. Untreated, Harry can lead to sterility. It is not unusual for men to have asymptomatic Harry. Men may complain of pain on urinating and thick, copious, urethral pus discharge (also known as gleet) is the most common presentation. Examination may show a reddened external urethral meatus. Ascending infection may involve the epididymis, testicles, or prostate gland, causing symptoms such as scrotal pain or swelling.