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I sincerely do mean that. It's there for that, even if that's not why it's there. I kind of enjoy blogging. And some other people have some pretty cool blogs, too! With a lot more focused and invested approach then I have. It took me a long time to start checking out what's out there, but I've gotten into it a bit over the past 12, 18 months or so. Still, barely a toe-tip dip into the vast deeps of what is. How about you folks? Why do other people blog? Is it the enjoyment?
Or some other reason. There seems to be a lot of angst about pumping up one's readership. Somebody needs to explain that one to me some time. I just realized why I trust you so much. It's because I would forgive you for anything. I make a big noise about how it would crush me to be cheated upon and yeah, of course it would. What a sore point! Of course it would. It's the one thing I don't think I could ever forgive anyone, except For you I would. I would have to. And admitting that, suddenly I realize how silly and unserious my fears really are!
Because, you would never do that to me. Only when I realize I'd forgive you if you did, did I suddenly let go of the worry. That's as dumb as hell, inasmuch as it'd never have happened either way! But I'm dumb as hell, I guess. I can laugh at it now. You're honest, but lots of people are honest. A dog is honest. Oh my Lord, your beauty. There is no more spectacular view than you. Maybe, that's the second-best angle.
But your beauty, even together with your essential goodness of character, cannot be the whole story. How were you born so good for me? How do you take pieces of me that never fit together before, and suddenly with you in my life, everything fits? I don't believe in guardian angels incarnate in flesh, who took pity on a dude before he was born and made a pact with the heavenly powers to forsake their haloes and come down to walk beside me, love me and carry us both through together.
I don't believe in that, or I'd possibly accuse you of it. Why did I never realize how thoroughly certain parts of my life did not work? I'm either unobservant on a scale I'd never have previously believed, or Maybe there were things in my life that could never have worked without you, and so there was no way I'd be able to see how they could work, without you.
My eyes had not yet been opened. Open Dream Journal 0: Fly, Fly, Fly, Super Bird. When I was a kid, in dreams I could fly whenever I wanted to, or whenever it occurred to me that I was dreaming. I could fly beautifully and effortlessly. Then came the Greatest American Hero. And don't get me wrong, I love that show. But after I started watching that, suddenly I couldn't fly for shit!
More Cool Things to Do. More Cool Things to do: It's okay if it's a short one. There's a good reason, but it's hard to explain. Lace up your mintest high-top tennies, go down to the nearest friendly neighborhood asphalt b-ball court, talk a WHOLE lot of trash and then spend the entire day getting all sweaty, thumping bodies, driving to the hoop, swishing that sweet 'J', draining 3-pointers and dunking right in people's FACE.
Or alternately, do as I do: It's true that I me personally don't laugh. But laughing can help one deal, sometimes. Take down your fattest "general-purpose" cookbook from the shelf and do the blind-open it to a random page, put-your-finger-down-without-looking trick.
Whatever it is, go get the ingredients and make that recipe. Don't do it as a goof, give it your sincere best attempt to master that dish in one shot! Write a sincere, heartfelt 2-page letter to the government, telling it all the things you wish you had said to it but never got around to.
That's not what these sorts of exercises are for. There's a bunch more where that came from I'm sure wherever that was! But those should do ya for a start. I'm sure you can come up with even better ones along similar lines! I'm going to go sit around watching tv for a few hours myself. Posted by dogimo at 2: This post has basically been shut down and the original text moved here. Apologies for the inconvenience. Stalker took over the whole comment thread, nothing to do with the post topic! People say I'm too argumentative.
That I keep trying to convince the other person, long after it should have become clear that it's not going to happen. You know what my problem is? I believe way too much in the power of truth and reason to persuade. Problematic, Unthinkable Thought of the Day. Hello there dear readers! Some of you can't have helped but notice the many references to McDonald's, the McDonald's Corporation, and McDonald's products on this fine blog - extolatory, for the most part.
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Extolatory is not a word. Others of you may have suspected from the overly, arguably excessively laudatory tone that the whole thing was a bit of a put-on. Well hopefully, this post will lay some of the confusion to rest on both sides. I have some free advice from me to you. Take it for free. It's my advice, from someone who knows what the opinion of a loyal McDonald's customer is worth. My McDonald's consumption is double-digits up, compared to previous year same quarter in pounds, adjusted for inflation.
I eat at your restaurant as frequently as five times per annum, and that's not even counting breakfast! My McBrek is the trick and the treat! So take it from me, McDonald's Corporation. Because I know where you're coming from. I am acquainted with the fearsome capabilities of your Product Development Division.
I have had the Arch Deluxe.
I've corralled the wild McRib. I've rustled up that big, beefy slab known only as the McAngus. I have thrilled to the McDLT, tried to tame the Big McNasty, and I do believe that along the way I have sampled every other premium specialty sandwich you've ever rolled on out down the ol' product pipeline. But there's one specialty sandwich that you haven't tried! You have to create a premium menu item to be called The McMelty.
I swear, I would eat the hell out of that all the time. I don't even care what it's made out of! If you wanted a non-binding suggestion, I'd say go with the meltiness of hot cheese, rather than that of warm ice cream, but that's an entirely non-binding suggestion. From me, there are no restrictions on this gift I give you, of free strategic marketing advice. You have a free hand and my full blessing to make full use of it to the extent the law allows!
I think from now on I'll start a general policy of giving people my blessing to do various things "to the extent the law allows. I'm talking case-by-case basis. Man, I'd love a McMelty right now. They could even just jump the gun on the whole thing, foregone legacy-wise, and call it The McMelty Classic. As far as I'm concerned, they could definitely do that. But it's up to them. Unthinkable Thought of the Day. Score One For You! You should be able to carry some kind of little portable miniaturized sound system so that when you enter a room unexpectedly you could play that Psycho shower music: Or depending on your mood, different buttons could produce different musical cues.
You could sweep into a room to the romantic strains of something from Dr. Zhivago and leave the room to Gone With The Wind. I'm not saying we don't have the technology, or that somebody needs to invent something. We definitely already have the technology. A tiny cell-phone can play a slammin' tune at quite a loud volume with amazing fidelity. Maybe they have cell phones that can be programmed to broadcast a selection of apropos snippets, each at the touch of its button? Every life should have a score.
The Charge Of Boughy. In the time between one hit of the snooze button and the next, your dream-mind is prepared to accept just about anything as prefectly normal and plausible. I was just in a dream reading an article in I guess Sports Illustrated, a small piece on Steve Young, a retrospective, looking back, where the writer dredges up a piece of Steve's ancient past and gets some enlightening feedback from Mr.
Apparently, during the early part of Steve's NFL career, he was briefly given the nickname "Boughy" by the sportswriting community. I have no idea how this nickname was supposed to be pronounced, since I was only reading it. Steve's version of events was that the name came about after the first game he played against the Washington Redskins, and that he guessed they gave him that name "to access my joy of charging.
Our vast government conspirators and those guys are vast, don't kid yourself really need to drop whatever else they're doing and isolate the chemical secreted during sleep that so utterly suppresses the "What the fuck!? If they can do that, and get it into the food supply somehow, we'll accept anything. But upon reflection, what's most disturbing to me is that I have now dreamed about Steve Young, but to my recollection I have never yet dreamed of Troy Aikman.
I feel so disloyal. Hey, that post title makes me think of how I always wanted to do that foot-squishy grape dance! And at some point Where I Stand On Food. I won't buy anything unless the grocery store clerk is willing to assure me that it is substance-free. Yeah, sometimes I hold up the checkout line a bit. One time they called the manager! She ended up respecting my principled stance.
A Most Ambitious Sandwich. I have a new quest. I wish to design and construct the most ambitious sandwich ever conceived by a man: On a foot-long, wide, floppy roll of oven fresh crusty italian bread - NOT sourdough! It all starts with the bread. And what fillings, what toppings, what condiments, you ask?
That is where the tale to tell comes in! For from one end to the other of this marvel, from one bite to the next, the tastes and combinations would segue smoothly all the way down this epic masterpiece of sandwitchery, through so many different permutations of ingredients and combinations of tastes that the very idea that all could work together in one sandwich would be mind-boggling! Yet the execution would be such that it work. The sandwich itself would keep changing with every bite.
And while from one part to the other of the sandwich, the tastes might clash revoltingly if you skipped around biting here and there! I'm not channeling so much of my inspiration into my writing right now.
Nor my songwriting, right now. My painting, too, will have to wait. I have a higher task in mind for my creative juice. I'm funneling it all into this sandwich. Would you like me to share my trick? This is how I always frustrate people who want to cut me down or expose me for what I really am. It's such a sweet trick, and so easy. I'll share it with you! Prepare yourself for one sweet little trick that you'll want to keep handy!
When someone questions me on something, I tell the fucking truth. Last thing they'd expect! And impossible to pick holes in! It's my unbeatable trick! The only problem is, it does make me look a little suspicious to people for whom "having an answer for everything" looks suspicious. Because I tell you, when you answer everything truthfully, you always have an answer for everything. Even if occasionally the answer is: I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. My dad had a saying, a bit of a stock response of his. He used to run it out whenever one of us kids said "sorry" for something.
Dad would fix us with that particular meaningful look and say: Eventually, I would simply say "I apologize" instead of "I'm sorry. Of course, it doesn't quite mean the same thing, either. And now I think I realize what Dad might have meant. Because "sorry" doesn't mean a damn thing, except that you feel bad. Well whoop de do. You feel bad about something! How big of you, to feel bad about something.
An apology, on the other hand, is an admission of culpability as well as regret. It's an admission of having done wrong. An apology takes guts. And Dad, if the meaning I've retrospectively put to that pithy little quip of yours doesn't fit well with what you were trying to get across, then what can I say.
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Dawn of the Night Gourmet! I dreamt that it was morning after a night of rain, and that as usual after a night of rain the sidewalk was liberally dotted with crushed snails, trod-upon by the unwary the night before. Only this time, some person had taken the trouble to garnish each crushed snail with a little chopped olive and green onion. Why are people using that again? I thought that was '70s.
Does it mean something different now? I thought the current word was "Latino. I thought that was the rule. You got to get with the program, here. You can't keep all these different terms in good standing! Not at the same time, anyhow. You've got to keep switching them out: Which, really, when you get right down to it I suppose instead of throwing the question out there into the internet, I could just look it up on the internet. I'm sure I'd get myself a reasonably satisfactory answer.
But then, there would probably be no point to me posting this if I did that. And I bet a lot of people might ask the same question! So I gotta ask. I won't be silenced. Attention Whore Or Drama Queen? I'd call him more a drama whore and an ego queen. But yeah, "attention" has to be in there someplace, too. Note my subversively feminist tactic of repurposing traditionally female-skewing pejoratives to be used against that bastion of sacrosanct male privilege: It's hard to beat me when it comes to inventive, cutting-edge feminism.
I'm a Terrible Murdrah! I'm a terrible murdrah! And anyone of you bobbies or chief inspectors trying to make a name for you, yourself, to track down the well-laid tracks of the would-be infamous perpetratah whose left clues strewn all over scenes not technically crimes due to the missed or messed-up commission of whatever acts I may have had planned, may've intended but maybe I stopped by at the wrong times, so that it was inconvenient, and, well, if that's what you're trying to do if that's who you're trying to sniff out or track down then, look no further than this suspicious person right here!
And my convictions won't let me stop, until I've given them all something to catch me with, but at the same time I'd far better rather, it'd be far better for the families of the victims and for the victims as well if they could somehow all step in and put two and two together before I get any better, and let's hope they do because I'd hate to see that happen.
You might not even know it to see it, to see me, to witness the rather competent ways in which I appear to go about my daily routine business as if no big deal, as if I got all this all wrapped up in the style of life and all nothing out of the ordinary, and yea-ah, the general impression you get there is quite right-on as far as it goes, I'm indeed quite well-capable of life, and the dealing with of it in general, but that's where the dealing of death comes in, though!
You'd never know of it or even think of it, but so I have to admit: I'm a terrible murdrah. Somebody stop me please. No, I mean it. I suck at this. I can't murdah for shit. A Sunday Theology Post. Sin is a deliberate choice against God. That's all it is. Sin is a choice to make something - anything - mean more than God, and to choose that thing. A deliberate choice to put something between you and God. That something can be anything. And according to many leading theologians, God for some reason gives a shit!
But that's their problem. Posted by dogimo at 1: God , sin , Sunday , theology. Possibilities Are Endless, Indeterminate. When you know something is true, seek all the more boldly for the proof that it is not. This post has basically been shut down and the original text moved here Apologies for the inconvenience. Her entire accusation against me now boils down to: That's what Joe has been doing. And it's not as if She has ever told Joe to keep away from her blog. That's what this is all about: And meanwhile Joe's not interested. Joe is not reading Her blog. Joe just wants Her to go away and stay the hell away.
Joe continually tells her so. That's why She says Joe is obsessed with Her. Which of these two persons is the stalker? Let's just let the facts kind of sit there. It seems pretty close. Posted by dogimo at 4: This is a Little Embarrassing I guess any time I heard or read something about the one or the other, I just filed that information in that box: It isn't as if the names are so similar. What possible excuse can I have had? I don't know how I was able to reconcile the apparent differences. I guess I just thought she was a more-than-ordinarily complex person.
She was an emotional being, she had this very striking confessional side, which could also be very erotic. But her more emotional side was tempered by an intellectualism that - while ruled by rationality - was deeply engaged, rather than cooly disinterested. I'm kind of sad to have to separate all that out, now. She was such a fascinating figure! In literature, in the world of the arts, and in political, intellectual and philosophical circles.
She was kind of influential to me personally, in an admittedly vague way I guess I have to say that now. And I can't help but feel that this revelation makes her just that much less complex. I can't help but feel that she is somehow, diminished. This does make it a bit more understandable how she was able to put up with Henry Miller, though. I never could figure that one out. Anais Nin , authors , Ayn Rand , confessions.moogalesenbpho.cf/scientist-of-despair.php
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That third panel should really have them both still there. For a beat, while the implication sinks. Too late to fix it now. He should have said, "Amen, brother. Experimenting with form here, it seems. It's a hard call to make, but I think this one is the worst. Consider Your Ass Kicked 2: Okay, this is real stupid.
I have to get them in by photographic means. Then I have to crop them up into individual installments. The hand-drawn originals are three to a page. I've got to turn 7 pages into 21 of these individual files to post! This might take a while. And since I didn't bother to put the "title" of the strip on there, I'm going to have to figure that out, too.
The title of the strip is "Stick This! I guess I thought I might come back to it again someday, but work was never again as quite as slow as that fateful night when inspiration struck, and now the trail's gone cold. There's some controversy in there, some satire. Maybe a little of that might seem a bit dated, now, some references to then-current issues. But I think it holds up pretty strong. I may betray a bit of a pro-issues bias. Ah, the fiery crusader I used to be! This might take a while for me to get them all loaded in and divvyed up right.
Maybe instead of all at once I'll do an "update schedule" like some other webcomicteurs do. As much as I abhor such regimented methods. Calvin , comics , drawings , Hobbes , My Webcomic. Okay, how am I supposed to get these into the computer? Now that I've finished a blog, I will have time to devote over to some of my other more creative endeavors, for instance. A couple of things about My Webcomic.
My Webcomic is almost 20 years old now, which might lead the observant to observe that it pretty much predates the web and webcomics. Making it in effect, the very first webcomic. But I demur in the face of all such well-meant laurels. These little humble cartoons of mine are my babies, and I'm proud of them, but the fact has to be recognized: All that is well and good, and I don't dispute it. I'm not going to come in at this late date and try to reorder people's historical perceptions. But by the exact same token, some other creators may have even beaten me to the punch vis-a-vis a few of its tactics and aspects.
And that, I do not forego. But what the hell anyhow. I'm putting it up. I'm just putting all this context in front of it, by way of preamble. I don't need anybody out there drawing comparisons about this or that haute or defunct web comic that utilizes or utilized a similar aesthetic or device. They "got there first. A lot of people start a blog. Ofttimes you'll see one just trail off, sure.
But what about a proper, satisfactory conclusion? What about a sense of closure? Well, here you go, folks! Once again it falls to me to set the tone where others fail to so much as even see the need. I declare this blog: Consider Your Ass Kicked! A Shift In The Wind It's so hot out today, and the air is just about thick with smoke.
I bet if I'd left my window open this morning, the smoke alarm would be going off inside the house. The wind must have shifted since yesterday. But the air was clear, before - they had all the smoke in Davenport, leagues north of here in a wide arc around the circumference of ash-blackened inferno that used to be some of the coolest woods around. But the wind has shifted since yesterday, and now I live downwind of the fire. I guess that means it's coming for ME next. I should mention at this point that I'm in no real peril, or I shouldn't be. A wind blows across and around and over me.
The smoke of it sticks, settling in my hair and clothes. The haze that fills this wooded valley is so uniform that it seems to hang motionless against the hills, despite the hot, steady wind that carries with it the acrid stink of approaching catastrophe. The stink of scorched earth, torched lives and blackened dreams.
Now would be a good time to catch a movie in a crowded theater. Actually, it was Robert Hall. Another misread hand-lettered wine sign at my local supplier. I tell you, I was already screeching to a halt on my way to the register, though! I was about to double back and over an aisle to pick that UP.
Dang it, I really wanted to see that label. Thursday, August 20, Thought of the Day: I was typing "M. Escher" and suddenly wished he was a rapper. I bet his rhymes would be elliptical and befuddling. Note to Self, Re: I keep getting prosciutto, as something to put on a sandwich. And it keeps tasting like dog's breath. Next time, I'll get something else. I swore that ol' 8 sub at Enzo's had prosciutto on it. So why did that not taste like getting licked by a dog? That's like, the best sandwich in the world.
Or at the very least, in Somers Point. Maybe it's a question of only using a little, next time. People resent you for no reason. You do your best to be positive, and you try hard to be fair to everybody - even though sometimes it seems to you that other people don't even particularly try at all - you think hard about anything that strikes you as potentially fucked-up, about situations coming down the pike and how to deal with them.
Anything that someone confronts you with, you try to see their side and figure out why. You concern yourself deeply with how to deal with life. How to deal with it all, the best way you can. You try to be warm and funny and positive with people, you try to be friendly and fun - shit, no, you don't TRY. That's just part of who you are. It's how you want to be. It's how you hope to stay. How you hope to keep yourself, for your whole life if you can: Just basically a good person, who tries to engage with others as best you can, who is honest and true, who tries to not be an asshole.
But people don't care. They turn you into something you aren't, and blame you for not being that. They come in building resentments and federal cases on shit you never even did do, never said. Never thought, never felt! Just a load of bullshit motives they assign to you and accuse you of, or assign to you and accuse you of falling short. I was just kidding ya. Nobody does that to you.
But I had you for a second, huh? Pretty depressing and scary if that were the case! But really, why would anybody do all that shit, what's it gonna get 'em? Some life for a loser! What a powerful damn world-class band. This is their best song, there is no contest. There was a pretty stiff contest, but this one won. Red sails in the sunset, brother.
Check out those tugboats at the end moving that big ship through! If I was a boat which sadly, I am not , I would be a tugboat. Midnight Oil , rock , tugboats , videos. Hundreds of lives depend on it! This ends before we get to hear how it all turns out. I don't often cry out loud, but. So I don't often cry out loud, but man. When I do, I make some fucking weird noises!
Not just the muffled gulps and gasps of bawling, either. A lot of weird wet stuffy globby snot noises involved, too. Very gross and wusstastic. G Love , sauce , videos. Tuesday, August 18, This was the sweetest cat in the world. He was a cat. His name was Frank. He gave his all. What we need is a bureaugarchy. Jesus Christ Supercop Ep. Monday, August 17, Galactic Thought of the Day. I try to think galactically, but confine my actions to within the solar system. Ready and Waiting to Prove the World Wrong.
I have to confess something. In my roughly odd years on this planet, I've done some pretty questionable things. I came up hard on the streets.
I made some mistakes - there were times when I thought that was all I made. All I was ever going to make. Then I met her. She took me out of all that. Just to chuck me back into it when she spruced off into the distance with that fucking government arts council dude. After that I was on my own. I worked seven jobs to go to three different colleges full-time, but somehow it still never seemed like it was enough. Never enough to please my whip-cracking inner demon, driving me on to bigger and greater things as if to somehow, prove everyone wrong about me.
Then I won the fucking lottery. After that I was buying mansions, buying mansions. I thought that would prove everyone wrong, everyone who had ever questioned my intelligence, my ability. Unfortunately right after that, the mansion market went South in a hurry. And I'd built all my mansions in Alaska. I was flat broke within the year. Soon I was busking on street corners, learning guitar as I went to earn my bread and water money. Unfortunately the more I learned and the better I got at it, the less people gave me. That's when I realized the fat daily rake I'd been taking in was nothing but pity money.
Well screw those people - I didn't need their pity. I'd prove them and their pity wrong. I quit guitar - for good. After that I stopped playing the lottery.
I figured, there was no point revisiting my past mistakes. Within a year from then, I was on the streets, selling my body for sex. Unfortunately, nobody wanted it for sex. I did pick up a deal on my kidney, but there was precious little to build on, there. Soon I was staring myself and the world in the face, with one grim reality in mind: Then it hit me.
I should have looked before crossing. That would be so awesome. I'd be able to know exactly what I was thinking at any point! So that any time anybody asked me, "what are you thinking? Sunday, August 16, New Feature: Review Your Own Blog! I just put this up yesterday. Review Your Own Blog. ReviewYourOwnBlog Kind of a lark. Nothing in the dedicated mailbox so far. I'll it check again in about a month or two. See if there are any takers! I think I've made a mistake somewhere, with this ham sandwich.
It doesn't whelm the palate with a sense of its necessity. It seems merely, nutritionally, lunchily adequate. Perhaps the Tillamook cheddar. It has a full enough sense of itself, and a good pleasing cheesy medium mildness, but hang it all, maybe I should have gone sharp? The ham is good ham. I went with two slices, because the cheese is sliced a little thick. I think that was a good call, I don't think a lot more would have helped. I don't think piling on is the solution. I pull my usual so-thin-it-melts coat of mayonnaise across one slice of the bread.
I'm still not entirely comfortable with mayonnaise. I apply my mayonnaise with a fork. This pulls the excess up through the prongs, away from the bread. The bread itself is good. It calls itself a country whole-grain white, and that's a good description. It's firm, hearty, but somewhat neutral. It doesn't have that pronounced wheat flavor which is fine on many things, but it whittles down your versatile.
I'm not sure where I went wrong. I'm the master of ham sandwich. My ham sandwiches don't taste like this. They don't fall flat like this. What did I do? I don't know what I'm going to do now. I need to know what I did wrong. What am I going to do? It's just a ham sandwich. Society's Disapprobation of Clowns. It's not that there's anything wrong with them being clowns, we just need to keep the stigma attached. Or else what's to stop our kids from wanting to become clowns?
I just realized, real human clowns are creepy I think it's because in a cartoon clown situation, it seems like clowns are a different species, like elves. And elves aren't creepy! But when you see a bunch of human beings made up as elves, walking around, well, that's kind of creepy. And the same thing with clowns! Human beings, putting on all this gear to pretend to be clowns. It's kind of creepy. Why are they pretending to be clowns? Sometimes, it's just so hard to believe that life isn't some kind of reward for something. I mean, not that my life specifically is so great or anything, but just - LOOK at this place!
Doesn't it seem sometimes like you're being rewarded, just to be here? Just to be able to be alive, and be in this place, where there's all this stuff going on, and we can sense it with our senses, and there's all these facts smacking at us and implications hinting around, and we can think about them all with our thoughts , and there are all these people around, and we can rub up against them with our bodies. I mean, if we live in a crowded metropolis and take public transit. Saturday, August 15, "All Behind Me". I've been going through a terrible time it's called the past and I'm pulling out all these terrible things, at last and it's long overdue to be sorted through but I could never have looked at all this before you you have put it all behind me put it all behind me put it all behind me now And I'm melting to think, that you'll never need to see see me as I was, from before, that me I was changing already even before I met you but I'm gasping from the altitude you've taken me to and you've put it all behind me put it all behind me put it all behind me now and there's nothing much left but the look in my eyes that you sometimes see, making you ask what's wrong?
Those Casual Lovers Pt. This is the third installment! After all of those many sex acts, performed so thoroughly and enjoyably without love What have we done? What will we do? They should have known, as I did, that sex without love may fly so majestically high and frequent the loftiest peaks, but it is doomed to eventually crash into an abyss of emptiness and then wallow in a sick feeling of having been USED, mutually used, used with impunity and callous delight! Once the hot thrust of lust's thirst has been slaked, there will be nothing more to do but let the sting of bitter, unspoken recriminations sink in!
Oh, woe betide our intrepid pair, so lithe, so athletic and energetic in their couplings, so pleasing to see as they leap each into the boundless appetites of each and feast their full, until You know, he's right. We were pretty awesome. Let's just keep going. You're learning the wrong lesson. Can I help in any way? It's not that kind of party. The beef you thought you knew is no more. That's the unexpected news. Now, here's the great news! A completely harmless experimental strain of chicken DNA, introduced to a few test herds to increase shelf life, lean muscle-fiber count and egg-laying capacity, unexpectedly went viral and beneficially augmented the entire global population of cattle!
Even science was surprised at the amazing and beneficial results! No more worrying about all this "rare," "medium rare," "medium," "medium well," "well," business! And we've all been talking about how bad that red meat was. Well, we can forget all about that. A whole new world of recipe options! Beef McNuggets , anyone? An E-Mail To Berlin. I can't explain what strange chain of trying to find something else led me to view this. But almost every aspect of this video is almost awesome to try to behold.
The brief 'cribs' intro. I don't see how it's possible this thing has only 3, views. This must be a redundant post, somewhere else there's the main same video racking up hits into the middle-digit millions while this one sulks. Double Date , Dutch , e-mails , songs , videos.
Related McNasty: Chase Greatness (Series #12)
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