GWiMMRN, Edition Edition
Hey, you! Yes, you. Stop tongue-fighting for the last execrescence in Kurt Vonnegut's hot, irritated ass crack with Deroy Murdock, "Patron Saint" of GWiMMRN and guess what's in my mouth right now!
A) A frozen breakfast treat made from M.U.L.T.U.M.E.S.C., which is that pussy-flavored drink that you add milk to like Ovaltine
B) Twatwaffles
C) The golden elixir often carried on buses by this semi-homeless guy that non-homeless people carry temporarily in their bladders
D) Predictable outrage and anger over disrespectful remarks
E) Shit-shampoo and a one-two fruit punch
F) Something that isn't either disgusting or intangible
G) A tasty dessert
H) A big, fat burgercock
A) A frozen breakfast treat made from M.U.L.T.U.M.E.S.C., which is that pussy-flavored drink that you add milk to like Ovaltine
B) Twatwaffles
C) The golden elixir often carried on buses by this semi-homeless guy that non-homeless people carry temporarily in their bladders
D) Predictable outrage and anger over disrespectful remarks
E) Shit-shampoo and a one-two fruit punch
F) Something that isn't either disgusting or intangible
G) A tasty dessert
H) A big, fat burgercock
posted by My Mouth at 5:30 AM
9 Comments:
You can wash down that "tasty dessert" with the "golden elixir," for all Jesus cares.
Does the twatwaffles cum with syrup?
Do you happen to have something that is either disgusting or intangible?
I'm a little peckish over here.
Multumesc.
I'm still waiting for my tasty desserts to be served to me, all seventy-seven of them hot and fresh.
My older brother's capacity for defecation is almost infinite, and I have no problem with taking his feces right out of his sickeningly stained underpants and throwing it into the hair of anyone I deem responsible for my lack of pies.
Chop chop, "John."
It was in the latter half of World War Two that the dreaded German Air Force known as the Twatwaffe firebombed London.
It's come to my attention that the author of this appalling website has once again implied that I would carry aboard a public bus a quantity of my own URINE.
For what I sincerely hope to be the last time, it was apple juice, not URINE.
It's disgusting to conceive of that I would carry about a bottle of my own URINE. I mean, URINE? What's with that? It was apple juice. You hear? Apple juice.
I wouldn't carry around a bottle of my own URINE for the world to see. I simply would NOT. I hope that you would have the decency to NOT assume that just because I am semi-homeless, I would carry around a bottle of my own URINE. I would, however, carry around apple juice, and have done so many times in the past.
Thank you.
Tom, why don't you just calm down.
I always thought it was the Lufftewaffles.
Huh. How about that.
YOUR apple pies will be warmed in the fiery cauldrons of Hell, you Michelin Man wannabe.
You can try to repent, but Jesus doesn't like you and won't hear your prayers.
Say that over and over to yourself while you eat another round of Supersized french fries and strawberry shakes:
Jesus doesn't like you and won't hear your prayers.
Jesus doesn't like you and won't hear your prayers.
Jesus doesn't like you and won't hear your prayers.
Understand? GOOD.
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