Self Defense is for Losers -- "Flapflapflapflapflap"
Why? Because if you are DEFENDING, you are, by definition, LOSING.
The lesson to be learned? Strike first, strike hard, no mercy SIR!
Also, remember that there is no mouth but My Mouth. Guess:
A) Ralph "suck first, suck hard, no mercy sir" Macchio.
B) Flapflapflap.
C) The words, "Why are you here?"
D) The Gonads.
E) Precious little time left.
F) Kurt Vonnegut, who survived the bombing of Dresden by the dreaded Twatwaffles.
G) A green pen that writes in green ink.
H) A big, fat cock.
UPDATE: If you only see three "f"'s in this post, you are going to be in big, big trouble come sundown, bub.
The lesson to be learned? Strike first, strike hard, no mercy SIR!
Also, remember that there is no mouth but My Mouth. Guess:
A) Ralph "suck first, suck hard, no mercy sir" Macchio.
B) Flapflapflap.
C) The words, "Why are you here?"
D) The Gonads.
E) Precious little time left.
F) Kurt Vonnegut, who survived the bombing of Dresden by the dreaded Twatwaffles.
G) A green pen that writes in green ink.
H) A big, fat cock.
UPDATE: If you only see three "f"'s in this post, you are going to be in big, big trouble come sundown, bub.
posted by My Mouth at 8:03 AM
10 Comments:
Actually, I only saw one "f." And it's the one I just typed.
Mary had a little lamb
with fleece a pale white hue
and everywhere that Mary went
the lamb kept her in view.
To academe he went with her
illegal and quite rare
it made the children laugh and play
to view a lamb in there.
FFFFFFFFFFUCK YOUUUUUUUU
How many "S's" were in that poem?
How many "f's" are in "sundown," bub?
I hereby protest the gratuitous use of my name.
I like my name and I refuse to be the butt of some obviously antipathatic question designed to get a "rise" out of people.
Got that, bub?
GOOD.
There is one S in that poem.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSuck it
:)
I would just like to add that I just ate a whole shit load of whole wheat pasta and I have a lasting feeling of fullness.
*frrpt*
I'm getting a little tired of waiting. I've finished my bacon double cheeseburger, supersized french fries, gigantic strawberry shake, and McDonaldland cookies. I'm now ready for the dessert that's owed to me. You know what it is: seventy-seven hot apple pies, each one properly warmed for my consumption.
The consequences of my not receiving my just desserts are pretty unacceptable, I would think. It's not even MY shit that I'll be throwing in your hair. It's my even fatter BROTHER'S shit. Now I know you don't want that.
I'm not a terrorist. I just want what's coming to me. Give me the apple pies at once. And they all need to be hot. No more excuses. Cowboy up and serve me my seventy-seven hot, fresh apple pies. I'm not going to wait any longer, and I'm still famished.
FAMISHED.
It's nothing compared to the lasting feeling of fullness you'll experience when I gag you with a liter of my man-custard, BUB.
Shhhh. Shhh. Shhh.
Come sundown, I vill SUCK the F's right out of you!!
Bub!
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