Hey Rob, I thought you'd be the best person to answer this question....
what do ya do, what recommendations do ya have when you're feelin under the weather and full of gas and you do one of those questionable farts that you know, just might be a little liquidy? Don't ya just hate that, and not quite sure about it either? Should one always carry an extra set of pants or perhaps an emergency adult diaper?
What have done lately to amuse me?
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cowboyangel
- Posts: 6986
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-
Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
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- Contact:
Informal drape usage practice #2.cowboyangel wrote:Hey Rob, I thought you'd be the best person to answer this question....
what do ya do, what recommendations do ya have when you're feelin under the weather and full of gas and you do one of those questionable farts that you know, just might be a little liquidy? Don't ya just hate that, and not quite sure about it either? Should one always carry an extra set of pants or perhaps an emergency adult diaper?
If caught, blame dog.
If no dog, claim constant dog noises in brain.
Usually when truely psychotic people that smell like shit use your drapes to wipe their ass, you tend to try to get them out the door ASAP.
And let's face it- who wants to stay in a house with crappy drapes.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
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- Contact:
Amusement factor = 7.5 BTW- getting much better.
Here's an amusement factor = 10. Warning, this game will get into your head and not let go til' you solve it. Especially if you have an interest in psychology.
Here's an amusement factor = 10. Warning, this game will get into your head and not let go til' you solve it. Especially if you have an interest in psychology.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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Rian Jackson
- Posts: 3903
- Joined: Fri Sep 19, 2003 4:30 pm
- Location: In Rob's Head
i've been entertaining you with fabulous thoughts.
of course, considering that i'm a voice in your head, it's all confidential
i feel so - absolved of any guilt. when you're just a voice in some cat's head, you don't have much responsibility.
now about running over those neighbors with power mowers...
of course, considering that i'm a voice in your head, it's all confidential
i feel so - absolved of any guilt. when you're just a voice in some cat's head, you don't have much responsibility.
now about running over those neighbors with power mowers...
surlier than thou
-
Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
- Location: Furbackistan, OR
- Contact:
Amusement factor = 8.
I was at the local Lowe's getting supplies. In the middle of standing in line, I noticed a small sign on the 5 gallon bucket that depicted a toddler being upended into the said bucket with some liquid at the bottom- and a giant circle with a line through it saying not to do this.
Since I was already in line, it was too late to return the bucket. I needed some way to get rid of the dead babies piled around the house. I had no idea that they were so corrosive that they would not only eat through a plastic bucket- but that they actually LEAKED enough fluid to partially fill the said bucket. But I could put this to use, I decided. Portions of my outside walls were in need of painting, so I figured if I used a suitable length pole, and attached a dead baby to the end- I could use it to strip off the old paint by swabbing the dead baby against the wall.
When it became my turn to purchase the bucket, I informed the young cashier that I had inadvertently bought a bucket not capable of safely containing dead babies- while pointing to the depiction on the side of the bucket. With a grin she replied, "I wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole."
She was clearly far more informed on the corrosive properties of dead babies than I was, since she was clearly aware that a ten foot pole would not be sufficient to prevent injury when utilizing the expired infant. A different strategy would have to be utilized.
Since we have a very large tree in the backyard, I figured I could use a long metal chain to string the baby to the outer limbs of the tree. I could then swing the dead baby at the walls of the house and the resulting splatter should cover a considerable radius.
Until, I got to thinking. This would be fine for the inner portions of the house, but if I aimed for the corners of the house- there was a chance that the dead baby could slip out of the chain at its apex. Since we live near one of the busier suburban roads, it was entirely conceivable that a highly corrosive dead baby could seemingly fall from the heavens and splatter itself on a unsuspecting windshield. As I would have to work on the house on Sunday, it would be fair to say that a local church goer would be very surprised by the message from this 'Sign from God'- possibley causing severe mental trauma ("God is throwing dead babies at me?!"). In the very least the windshield might need repairing, since I have no idea of the reaction between corrosive dead baby and automotive safety glass.
So I guess my question is- does anyone have the MSDS sheet on dead babies they can send me?
This message was brought to you from Evil Rob, one of the other voices in my head.
I was at the local Lowe's getting supplies. In the middle of standing in line, I noticed a small sign on the 5 gallon bucket that depicted a toddler being upended into the said bucket with some liquid at the bottom- and a giant circle with a line through it saying not to do this.
Since I was already in line, it was too late to return the bucket. I needed some way to get rid of the dead babies piled around the house. I had no idea that they were so corrosive that they would not only eat through a plastic bucket- but that they actually LEAKED enough fluid to partially fill the said bucket. But I could put this to use, I decided. Portions of my outside walls were in need of painting, so I figured if I used a suitable length pole, and attached a dead baby to the end- I could use it to strip off the old paint by swabbing the dead baby against the wall.
When it became my turn to purchase the bucket, I informed the young cashier that I had inadvertently bought a bucket not capable of safely containing dead babies- while pointing to the depiction on the side of the bucket. With a grin she replied, "I wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole."
She was clearly far more informed on the corrosive properties of dead babies than I was, since she was clearly aware that a ten foot pole would not be sufficient to prevent injury when utilizing the expired infant. A different strategy would have to be utilized.
Since we have a very large tree in the backyard, I figured I could use a long metal chain to string the baby to the outer limbs of the tree. I could then swing the dead baby at the walls of the house and the resulting splatter should cover a considerable radius.
Until, I got to thinking. This would be fine for the inner portions of the house, but if I aimed for the corners of the house- there was a chance that the dead baby could slip out of the chain at its apex. Since we live near one of the busier suburban roads, it was entirely conceivable that a highly corrosive dead baby could seemingly fall from the heavens and splatter itself on a unsuspecting windshield. As I would have to work on the house on Sunday, it would be fair to say that a local church goer would be very surprised by the message from this 'Sign from God'- possibley causing severe mental trauma ("God is throwing dead babies at me?!"). In the very least the windshield might need repairing, since I have no idea of the reaction between corrosive dead baby and automotive safety glass.
So I guess my question is- does anyone have the MSDS sheet on dead babies they can send me?
This message was brought to you from Evil Rob, one of the other voices in my head.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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Rian Jackson
- Posts: 3903
- Joined: Fri Sep 19, 2003 4:30 pm
- Location: In Rob's Head
Oh. My. God.
there are tears running down my face.
(which, incidentally, means that you must be quite amused as i am a voice in your head. to further extrapolate, it is apparent that the aim of this thread is to entertain ME as much as you... perhaps more, as you are just the 'host head'.)
Host Head, i think i love you.
there are tears running down my face.
(which, incidentally, means that you must be quite amused as i am a voice in your head. to further extrapolate, it is apparent that the aim of this thread is to entertain ME as much as you... perhaps more, as you are just the 'host head'.)
Host Head, i think i love you.
surlier than thou
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Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
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- Contact:
I'm deeply flattered that I love myself.Rian Jackson wrote:Oh. My. God.
there are tears running down my face.
(which, incidentally, means that you must be quite amused as i am a voice in your head. to further extrapolate, it is apparent that the aim of this thread is to entertain ME as much as you... perhaps more, as you are just the 'host head'.)
Host Head, i think i love you.
Er.
Another quick question.
Since you're a voice in my head, then I assume when I masturbate- we're doing the wild thang?
Am I any good?
If not, then please feel free to lie convincingly to me. I would hate for all that teenage practice to have been done in vain.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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Rian Jackson
- Posts: 3903
- Joined: Fri Sep 19, 2003 4:30 pm
- Location: In Rob's Head
well, uh....Host Head wrote:I'm deeply flattered that I love myself.Rian Jackson wrote:Oh. My. God.
there are tears running down my face.
(which, incidentally, means that you must be quite amused as i am a voice in your head. to further extrapolate, it is apparent that the aim of this thread is to entertain ME as much as you... perhaps more, as you are just the 'host head'.)
Host Head, i think i love you.
Er.
Another quick question.
Since you're a voice in my head, then I assume when I masturbate- we're doing the wild thang?
Am I any good?
shit, i mean, god yes, unforgettable baby. it's great, with this *position* you don't even need a condom. yeah!
If not, then please feel free to lie convincingly to me. I would hate for all that teenage practice to have been done in vain.
you know, i really love it when you....
oh. there are other people here. come over here, i'll whisper it in your inner ear.
[/i]
surlier than thou
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cowboyangel
- Posts: 6986
- Joined: Fri May 14, 2004 10:32 pm
drum roll please...ok mr. wop...this one ought be worth at least an 8.0
http://www.brightpathvideo.com/flash/gbless.mov
http://www.brightpathvideo.com/flash/gbless.mov
"We'll know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American public believe is false."- William Casey, CIA Director 1981
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Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
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- Contact:
No, that was definately a 10 on the amusement factor. Judges, you agree?cowboyangel wrote:drum roll please...ok mr. wop...this one ought be worth at least an 8.0
http://www.brightpathvideo.com/flash/gbless.mov
But how did you get a copy of my Superbowl Halftime act?
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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buckethead alien
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- Joined: Wed Sep 03, 2003 8:07 am
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arrrrgggg! that's too funny! stop!cowboyangel wrote:drum roll please...ok mr. wop...this one ought be worth at least an 8.0
http://www.brightpathvideo.com/flash/gbless.mov
Buckethead, Buckethead you are like an Alien
Buckethead, Buckethead your head is like a dish
Buckethead, Buckethead sometimes you wear the Maybelline
Buckethead, Buckethead sometimes you're full of fish
Buckethead, Buckethead your head is like a dish
Buckethead, Buckethead sometimes you wear the Maybelline
Buckethead, Buckethead sometimes you're full of fish
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Rob the Wop
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cowboyangel
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cowboyangel
- Posts: 6986
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Re my outfit:
My car:
(repeated from another thread, but it's too good to pass up)
Hey Rob, It's good to see that you own your very own Clivas Muldram Mobile Composting Toilet! Where do ya buy these things?
My car:
(repeated from another thread, but it's too good to pass up)
Hey Rob, It's good to see that you own your very own Clivas Muldram Mobile Composting Toilet! Where do ya buy these things?
"We'll know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American public believe is false."- William Casey, CIA Director 1981
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theCryptofishist
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Rob the Wop
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Rian Jackson
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Rob the Wop
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More amusement.
Looking at old Emails trying to find one from my brother. Came across my write up on the Wine Clowns event we did back in 2000.
Amusement factor = 7 (cause it's old amusements)
Morning. Three clowns stumble into the MAX station at the Hillsboro Fairstation (must leave the clown mobile somewhere).
Greeted by a amateur photographer taking pictures of the rail road tracks for a "convergent lines" photography class. We were apparently more interesting.
"Where are you guys getting off at? I hope the government station, I'd love to tell my boss that I was bringing you into work..."
Arrive in the Sports look bar. Apparently my fake breasts were making the soccer dads nervous. They looked up, did a double take, and then tried
to keep their daughters busy with conversation whenever I would turn in their direction. Don't worry pops, they'll have them soon enough (though mine were quite impressive).
"There has been complaints, would you guys knock off the squeaking- it's annoying the customers." replies a beefy armed Valkarian barmaid. She is not Mrs. Sunshine at 11:30 am with 16 clowns in attendance. Food is consumed. Unfortunately this was my last and only meal of the day.
We leave. I avail myself of the facilities. Kweenie has everyone squeaking as they quite noisily depart the establishment. I walk out of the restroom and towards the front door to hear "Hildegard" proclaim "We almost had a clown suicide there at the end."
Homicide, my cousin kissing darling, is when you kill some else that offends you. Apparently words with more than two syllables are not your forte.
Bummer that I actually tipped you dear.
Al-Bob is trying methods to get us in order to get the correct number of clowns per limo. "Eeine meenie miney mo"
Didn't work. Hey, we're a bunch of fucking clowns. Random piling into large white vehicles.
"Hello, my name is Rob and I'm a clown."
"Hello, my name is Nancy and I'm a clown."
Introductions all around, faintly reminiscent of a AA meeting gone horribly silly. Discussions have been made to call the driver James, but due to his
very un-clown like attitude, we call him Don instead.
"Where the fuck is the corkscrew?"
A nearby market is ravaged by clowns pre-first winery. A bottle of Mimosa is found for $1.99. There's not even a cork (surprise!) it's a twist off.
But a corkscrew is found anyways to open another bottle. They are passed around. Odd herbal scents fill the air at some point. Clown Hilde starts
to feel a little carsick, so a rousing chorus of "It's looogg, it's loooggg, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood..." fills the air to cheer her up.
We arrive at the first winery suitably prepared. Chocolates! Looks like we're going to have to try this one here.
Amid screams of "Quit looking at my breasts!" I manage to sample my first crushed rotted grapes.
Decisions are made to purchase two bottles per winery for passing around to go to the next winery.
Clownish attitudes are still warming up at this point, but Clown Joy offends all by drinking out of the wine spittoon via a straw.
"Hey, it's all organic!"
The first round up, complete with patrons taking picture of us and we are once again on our way.
Two bottles of wine and we have found our way to winery number two. "Please attend to me and provide me with this establishment's
finest crushed rotted grape beverages, possible painful extracted from the loving vines by heathen horrid gnomes in the back of this said winery!
And stop looking at my breasts..."
"Uhm...I'm sorry but I don't think that we have the ability to handle a party as large as yours is."
"Stand aside my young dear, for we have a reservation!"
"For...."
"Al, that would be a tour and a tasting my dear, now chop chop!"
A winery attendant ushers us into the back warehouse room, with a distinct deer-in-the-headlights demeanor.
"Over here is where the grapes a given the initial pressing, the back doors open and .... are you listening to me?"
"Absolutely..." At this point Clown Nancy has taken over the forklift and is honking the horn. Clown Martian is roller skating around the warehouse followed
by Clown Mike with a video camera. Some clowns start participating in a game of tag in the warehouse. Clown Joy and Kweenie and are lifting their skirts in front of the window to the tasting room. The other patrons are apparently much amused. They are not as amused when I start fondling my breasts in front of the window. Clown Joy is no longer bothering to use a straw to drink out of the wine spittoon.
Our lovely attendant is given into the spirit of the event and has stopped boring us and starts pouring us. I average 2-3 tastes of each type of wine.
"No my dear, I haven't tried that one yet." What? Are you saying all us clowns look alike?
We move into the front tasting room as they have steadfastly refused to kick us out of the warehouse. Attempts are made to purchase items with clown money, and rumor has it that this has indeed happened. Numerous "unpaid purchases" using a "special discount" has allowed for drinking consumables for on the way to the next winery.
The limo is now a place of loud noises and confusion. But we have not lost the corkscrew yet. The wine is passed around and done long before we reach the third winery.
Arrival at the third winery is greeted by a large group of lubricated clowns sliding out of two limos.
"We'll be having our tasting for your party outside as we cannot handle your number inside."
Yah right, whatever. Bring on the booze.
"You guys rock."
Thanks.
Toasts to large pendulous breasts with a very nervous looking younger gentleman pouring for us. So of course Clown Meighan must place a clown dollar
down the front of his pants with her teeth. Drunken patrons that we have run into at past wineries greet us and fondle my breasts. Much fondling all around.
General hyjinks and clown performance is rapidly degrading.
"We must leave to get the limos back on time."
Vague remembrance of entering limos and driving away. Much random smooching between clowns in the first limo. Not much remembered until the town of Newburg is reached.
Piss stop. Pistop?
I come running into the middle of road screaming "Where the hell are you going?!?" as the limo speeds away.
"It's okay, just hop in this limo. Some clowns traded limos."
Or so we thought.
Clown Jonathan is left wandering the backwards little town of Newburg. Drunk as a skunk muttering "Where are my clowns? The limos were
right there..." A little old lady tending to her lawn takes pity on the poor clown and allows him to use her phone to call a friend.
Lucky Clown Rob, being ousted from limo 1 was a good thing. Apparently there were two "causalities" that made the first limo very smelly.
<Black out>
Desperately trying to stand up without falling outside of Pizza Schmizza.
"Let's get these guys home."
<Black out>
Soap. Ok. Wash face. Oops I fell down again.
<Black out>
<Awaken>
Me and Janie are naked in our beds. Our faces devoid of makeup.
I vaguely remember washing my face (I think) and something about a trash can.
Have we been violated? I don't remember taking my clothes off...
Did I violate myself or did I pay someone else?
A quick stumble out into the living room reveals various clown attire that are definitely not ours.
And clown Jonathan's clown suit.
How did these people get in our house?
Most importantly, did I have fun? And what the hell is this crap on my clown gloves?
Amusement factor = 7 (cause it's old amusements)
Morning. Three clowns stumble into the MAX station at the Hillsboro Fairstation (must leave the clown mobile somewhere).
Greeted by a amateur photographer taking pictures of the rail road tracks for a "convergent lines" photography class. We were apparently more interesting.
"Where are you guys getting off at? I hope the government station, I'd love to tell my boss that I was bringing you into work..."
Arrive in the Sports look bar. Apparently my fake breasts were making the soccer dads nervous. They looked up, did a double take, and then tried
to keep their daughters busy with conversation whenever I would turn in their direction. Don't worry pops, they'll have them soon enough (though mine were quite impressive).
"There has been complaints, would you guys knock off the squeaking- it's annoying the customers." replies a beefy armed Valkarian barmaid. She is not Mrs. Sunshine at 11:30 am with 16 clowns in attendance. Food is consumed. Unfortunately this was my last and only meal of the day.
We leave. I avail myself of the facilities. Kweenie has everyone squeaking as they quite noisily depart the establishment. I walk out of the restroom and towards the front door to hear "Hildegard" proclaim "We almost had a clown suicide there at the end."
Homicide, my cousin kissing darling, is when you kill some else that offends you. Apparently words with more than two syllables are not your forte.
Bummer that I actually tipped you dear.
Al-Bob is trying methods to get us in order to get the correct number of clowns per limo. "Eeine meenie miney mo"
Didn't work. Hey, we're a bunch of fucking clowns. Random piling into large white vehicles.
"Hello, my name is Rob and I'm a clown."
"Hello, my name is Nancy and I'm a clown."
Introductions all around, faintly reminiscent of a AA meeting gone horribly silly. Discussions have been made to call the driver James, but due to his
very un-clown like attitude, we call him Don instead.
"Where the fuck is the corkscrew?"
A nearby market is ravaged by clowns pre-first winery. A bottle of Mimosa is found for $1.99. There's not even a cork (surprise!) it's a twist off.
But a corkscrew is found anyways to open another bottle. They are passed around. Odd herbal scents fill the air at some point. Clown Hilde starts
to feel a little carsick, so a rousing chorus of "It's looogg, it's loooggg, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood..." fills the air to cheer her up.
We arrive at the first winery suitably prepared. Chocolates! Looks like we're going to have to try this one here.
Amid screams of "Quit looking at my breasts!" I manage to sample my first crushed rotted grapes.
Decisions are made to purchase two bottles per winery for passing around to go to the next winery.
Clownish attitudes are still warming up at this point, but Clown Joy offends all by drinking out of the wine spittoon via a straw.
"Hey, it's all organic!"
The first round up, complete with patrons taking picture of us and we are once again on our way.
Two bottles of wine and we have found our way to winery number two. "Please attend to me and provide me with this establishment's
finest crushed rotted grape beverages, possible painful extracted from the loving vines by heathen horrid gnomes in the back of this said winery!
And stop looking at my breasts..."
"Uhm...I'm sorry but I don't think that we have the ability to handle a party as large as yours is."
"Stand aside my young dear, for we have a reservation!"
"For...."
"Al, that would be a tour and a tasting my dear, now chop chop!"
A winery attendant ushers us into the back warehouse room, with a distinct deer-in-the-headlights demeanor.
"Over here is where the grapes a given the initial pressing, the back doors open and .... are you listening to me?"
"Absolutely..." At this point Clown Nancy has taken over the forklift and is honking the horn. Clown Martian is roller skating around the warehouse followed
by Clown Mike with a video camera. Some clowns start participating in a game of tag in the warehouse. Clown Joy and Kweenie and are lifting their skirts in front of the window to the tasting room. The other patrons are apparently much amused. They are not as amused when I start fondling my breasts in front of the window. Clown Joy is no longer bothering to use a straw to drink out of the wine spittoon.
Our lovely attendant is given into the spirit of the event and has stopped boring us and starts pouring us. I average 2-3 tastes of each type of wine.
"No my dear, I haven't tried that one yet." What? Are you saying all us clowns look alike?
We move into the front tasting room as they have steadfastly refused to kick us out of the warehouse. Attempts are made to purchase items with clown money, and rumor has it that this has indeed happened. Numerous "unpaid purchases" using a "special discount" has allowed for drinking consumables for on the way to the next winery.
The limo is now a place of loud noises and confusion. But we have not lost the corkscrew yet. The wine is passed around and done long before we reach the third winery.
Arrival at the third winery is greeted by a large group of lubricated clowns sliding out of two limos.
"We'll be having our tasting for your party outside as we cannot handle your number inside."
Yah right, whatever. Bring on the booze.
"You guys rock."
Thanks.
Toasts to large pendulous breasts with a very nervous looking younger gentleman pouring for us. So of course Clown Meighan must place a clown dollar
down the front of his pants with her teeth. Drunken patrons that we have run into at past wineries greet us and fondle my breasts. Much fondling all around.
General hyjinks and clown performance is rapidly degrading.
"We must leave to get the limos back on time."
Vague remembrance of entering limos and driving away. Much random smooching between clowns in the first limo. Not much remembered until the town of Newburg is reached.
Piss stop. Pistop?
I come running into the middle of road screaming "Where the hell are you going?!?" as the limo speeds away.
"It's okay, just hop in this limo. Some clowns traded limos."
Or so we thought.
Clown Jonathan is left wandering the backwards little town of Newburg. Drunk as a skunk muttering "Where are my clowns? The limos were
right there..." A little old lady tending to her lawn takes pity on the poor clown and allows him to use her phone to call a friend.
Lucky Clown Rob, being ousted from limo 1 was a good thing. Apparently there were two "causalities" that made the first limo very smelly.
<Black out>
Desperately trying to stand up without falling outside of Pizza Schmizza.
"Let's get these guys home."
<Black out>
Soap. Ok. Wash face. Oops I fell down again.
<Black out>
<Awaken>
Me and Janie are naked in our beds. Our faces devoid of makeup.
I vaguely remember washing my face (I think) and something about a trash can.
Have we been violated? I don't remember taking my clothes off...
Did I violate myself or did I pay someone else?
A quick stumble out into the living room reveals various clown attire that are definitely not ours.
And clown Jonathan's clown suit.
How did these people get in our house?
Most importantly, did I have fun? And what the hell is this crap on my clown gloves?
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
-
Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
- Location: Furbackistan, OR
- Contact:
Been there, done that. If ever I met a frozen hussy...Sensei wrote:Nice post, Rob.
Well, I've been trying to get it on with an ice-cream cake in the thread next door. Say, you wouldn't have Cookiepusss's phone number, would you? Damn, I wanna meet that cake.RTW wrote: What have you done lately to amuse me?
Oh, uhm... and that isn't cream filling- so you might not want to eat her.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
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geekster
- Posts: 4865
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- Contact:
Re: More amusement.
Say, is that the group in the Wine Clowns pic in the cacophony tribe's album?Rob the Wop wrote:Looking at old Emails trying to find one from my brother. Came across my write up on the Wine Clowns event we did back in 2000.
Pabst Blue Ribbon - The beer that made Gerlach famous.
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Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
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- Contact:
Re: More amusement.
Holy shit, someone put the pic up. That's the same year as the write up (we've done the event a couple times). I'm the one of the far right, green jacket, clown hands, and holding his monsterous breats.geekster wrote:Say, is that the group in the Wine Clowns pic in the cacophony tribe's album?Rob the Wop wrote:Looking at old Emails trying to find one from my brother. Came across my write up on the Wine Clowns event we did back in 2000.
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
-
Simply Joel
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cowboyangel
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Rob the Wop
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Rob the Wop
- Posts: 1814
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 4:06 pm
- Location: Furbackistan, OR
- Contact:
And more amusements-
Woodrow made his appearance at the PDX Decompression the other night. Here's some eye-witness accounts:
Woodrow:
"...the crowd was screaming for me to make an appearance...chanting my name over and over...i teased them for a bit and then had my front man make an anouncement over the PA system... when I showed up there was a huge round of applause and astonishement...i hung out for a while by the fire- to the great delight of my fans- before deciding to slip back down into my sleeping bag...i wish smatztu would take me spelunking more often..."
Samtzu:
"Well I was standing by the fire, taking in the heat, when Rain screamed across the fire 'Where's Woodrow?'. The Rob grabbed his bullhorn and started to anounce it, so I thought- 'what the hell'. I took Woodrow out of his 'sleeping bag' and let him out for some night air."
That nearby annoying raver chick:
"I was like, taking in the chill vibe around the fire. There was this obnoxious hairy fratboy that kept saying weird things over one of those megaphone thingies. I was like, 'where's the bouncer'? Chaa. Anyways, then this creepy old guy opened up his trenchcoat and started waving his penis around. I was like totally freaked. I mean, it was like impressive and everything- but I mean like, chaa...uhm... do you have any X?"
Woodrow made his appearance at the PDX Decompression the other night. Here's some eye-witness accounts:
Woodrow:
"...the crowd was screaming for me to make an appearance...chanting my name over and over...i teased them for a bit and then had my front man make an anouncement over the PA system... when I showed up there was a huge round of applause and astonishement...i hung out for a while by the fire- to the great delight of my fans- before deciding to slip back down into my sleeping bag...i wish smatztu would take me spelunking more often..."
Samtzu:
"Well I was standing by the fire, taking in the heat, when Rain screamed across the fire 'Where's Woodrow?'. The Rob grabbed his bullhorn and started to anounce it, so I thought- 'what the hell'. I took Woodrow out of his 'sleeping bag' and let him out for some night air."
That nearby annoying raver chick:
"I was like, taking in the chill vibe around the fire. There was this obnoxious hairy fratboy that kept saying weird things over one of those megaphone thingies. I was like, 'where's the bouncer'? Chaa. Anyways, then this creepy old guy opened up his trenchcoat and started waving his penis around. I was like totally freaked. I mean, it was like impressive and everything- but I mean like, chaa...uhm... do you have any X?"
[b]The other, other white meat.[/b]
-
Sandwichman
- Posts: 2121
- Joined: Tue Jan 27, 2004 10:29 pm
- Burning Since: 2004
- Location: Portland OR
- Contact:
Here is a most amusing tale for you......this is a true tale mind you so have some sympathy but please take the time to laugh and excrete fluids on determinable by a medical lab.....
CALLING IN SICK
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how
legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks
I'm lying.
On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway,
because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply
mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I
would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned,
I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of
my head.
The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's
wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition
was no problem. Then one morning, I was taking my shower after
breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the
kitchen. "Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please
come reset it."
"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower
pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"
"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks
me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only
take you a second."
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent
outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived
her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted
down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.
It is the last action I remember performing.
It struck without warning, and without any respect to my
circumstances.
No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal
teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling
objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised
around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And,
at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the
toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like
claws.
I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements,
blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a
kitten hanging from my masculine region.
Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome.
Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know
this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when
the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The
impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now
there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself
lying on the kitchen floor buck naked in front of a group of "been-
there, done-that" paramedics. Even worse, having been fully
briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they
tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their
hysterical laughter....
.and not succeeding. Somehow I lived through it all.
A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where
colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head
injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about.
Which it was.
"What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"
If they only knew
CALLING IN SICK
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how
legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks
I'm lying.
On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway,
because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply
mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I
would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned,
I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of
my head.
The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's
wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. Initially, the new acquisition
was no problem. Then one morning, I was taking my shower after
breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the
kitchen. "Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please
come reset it."
"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower
pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"
"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks
me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only
take you a second."
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping that my silent
outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived
her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted
down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.
It is the last action I remember performing.
It struck without warning, and without any respect to my
circumstances.
No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal
teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling
objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised
around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And,
at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the
toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like
claws.
I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements,
blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a
kitten hanging from my masculine region.
Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome.
Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know
this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when
the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The
impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now
there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself
lying on the kitchen floor buck naked in front of a group of "been-
there, done-that" paramedics. Even worse, having been fully
briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they
tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their
hysterical laughter....
.and not succeeding. Somehow I lived through it all.
A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where
colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head
injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about.
Which it was.
"What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"
If they only knew
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