I live on a quiet street in a nice neighborhood, in a house that is actually two apartments. The first floor is a three bedroom apartment, and the second floor is a separate three bedroom apartment.
What makes the house interesting is that it is the third of four identical houses on that particular block, all in a row. Alternating houses are mirror-images of each other.
As the third house in the line, our large dining room windows look out across twelve feet of scrub brush into the large dining room windows of our neighbors in House 2. For most of my time there, those neighbors have been a gaggle of young gay men, all Pitt students.
They were rarely home, but when they were, they were usually shirtless. Unlike our house, their house had a finished basement, with two more bedrooms, for a total of five bedrooms and five twinky gay boys.
When summer started, many of the gay boys went home to various tiny, not-quite-glam-enough Ohio and Penna. townships, to suffer out the summer in neo-christian hyper-moral misery. They found a few subletters last minute, and then, oddly, those subletters found subletters.
In an effort to close the $15 million gap in this year’s City Budget, Pittsburgh Mayor Ravenstahl the Younger has made moves to install a “slow driving” tax.
“Too much of our infrastructure is being inefficiently used by aging drivers, who with their light feet that cannot push pedals, and their inability to see over their hoods, and their general mothball-ish scent. Its time that these geriatric big-wigs paid their fair share!” said Ravenstall at a recent news conference.
I returned Peter’s stash to its rightful (though dare I say unlawful!) place, and soon enough Peter returned in a similarly criminal manner. I could see in his bloodshot eyes that awful gleam of knowing. Like any good spy, I had returned his rifled-through things to their original places, carefully restacking the most casual of stacks, etc, and though any layman would have been none the wiser, something in those flat eyes knew that I knew that he was a fiend, both horticulturally and demonologically.
So one might criticize my reaction to that initial night of sexile, since the blue scrunchie maneuver was something I might have given Peter reason to think was okay. (I hope to god Peter didn’t show that Chinese girl his “blue scrunchie maneuver” if you know what I mean, because what I mean is some kind of sex act).
About a week or two ago, Clunkline went on an adventure to Breezewood, the magical town of motels that is halfway to everywhere. If materialism took a shit and a highway rest stop rolled in it, you would call it Breezewood. All three of us were excited to have finally arrived at our historic destination, and doctor_subtle’s camera was there to document the entire weeklong vacation.
First I would like to thank you for all of the time and effort you spend patronizing our website and free service, redpornotube.com. Like many of our users, you give back to this community driven website by uploading your own pornographic content, in addition to downloading the content of others.
I would like to note here, however, just for the record, that this trade of data is not very much like the analogy you used in your previous email to us – online videos are in no way like “the cum-stained porno mags of your father’s closet, pages stuck together like thighs.” Indeed I would posit that they are more like the slutty girl at your local highschool – passed around like some form of social currency.
So one day Ang Lee made an incredible art film called The Hulk. Like his previous films, it dealt with the love between two cowboys. Only these cowboys were a big green guy and the hot chick from Requiem for a Dream, which should totally have been titled Dirge for Some Sad People (spoilers). But instead of sheep, there was a mutant poodle thing. And some kind of starfish power that lets bullets ripple off your rippling chest. I think it was worth it though, just to see the Hulk smash a dog’s teeth into its brain simply by flexing them there. Besides that though, nothing happened for the first hour and a half. Then the Hulk defied physics a lot in the New Mexico desert (note: this is becoming a theme) but managed to kill no one.
Tanzmetall: I saw lord of the rings today
Ahh, Indy. The dog’s name was Indy. In his most recent movie, he is fighting the one enemy no man can overcome: age. God, if he chose poorly they wouldn’t even need special effects–they could just, you know, pan towards his face harder. I haven’t seen that many pockmarks since Edward James Olmos went down on Barbra Streisand. Too soon? Not for those two.
Reading Wikipedia today I came across the fluid known as Oil of Saints. It’s a particular substance that saintly remains (or relics) extrude that is considered holy, and can be used in substitution for the saint’s intercession- a Saint of Healing’s Oil heals, etc.
Now, my question is, do all corpses, holy and unholy, exude similar Corpse Kool-Aid?
Can one go to an abandoned forest in Russia and dig up some Romanov Jungle Juice? I wonder, does that stuff come with Anastasia Ambrosia, or is on the side (maybe in Paris!)? And her brother, the hemophiliac, could one bruise the gin?
Today we bring you a taste of madness, a bit like the Ronnicles, but from the opposite direction. Rather than exhibit for your viewing pleasure a person whose reading moneys are grossly underfunded, we bring you a veritable plutocrat of words. I present for your scrutiny the works of Ken Warren, public librarian of Lakewood, Ohio, a Cleveland suburb.
This man spoke recently at my college. He is known by someone who knows a professor, who got him invited. This man is mad. What follows is a series of excerpts from a paper he presented to his lecture’s audience, some of which is available online.
According to this brief article, a 12 year old boy in Bloomington, OH, threw a rock at Soulja Boy and broke the windscreen of his tour bus.
You think that you have found out how I caused the war in Iraq, well, you are dead wrong, Mon Capitan! True, Ketchikan was part of it, but in your haste to divine the source of America’s wrongs, you failed to see the hundreds of other places where I, Doctor Subtle, did extend the tentacles of my evil influence.
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