I went to sleep last night satisfied with my level of wisdom and worldly sophistication. Then I woke up this morning a moron all over again. It’s like I know nothing. I’ve never even heard of this sexual quackery that this guy engages in. Oh hell, there’s even a proper name for it — urethral sounding. I mean, am I just an idiot or what? I must just not be living right or hanging out in the right social circles because I have never heard of such a thing in my life.
Call me missionary prude in the sex department but I fall miserably short here (no pun). I’m trying to figure out what to blame for this lack of understanding. I just think I’ve never really taken the proper amount of time for myself to figure myself out. I’ve never just been sitting there and suddenly:
“Saaay… know what might feel pretty good — where’s my phone charging cable?!?”
So there’s that, then the other baffling half is that the brother lies to the doctors telling them that he accidentally ate the cable rather than inserted it into his bladder, sending them on a wild goose chase in his abdomen with scalpels. This is all just so disturbing:
“Well, Mr. Johnson… this is indeed quite puzzling; we really shredded the BeJesus out of your stomach but could find neither hide nor hair of your charging cable. Might I be so bold as to suggest you invest in another cable?”
“Well sure but the point is I’m in extreme pain, Doc!”
(Warning: strong adult themes and at times blasphemous content)
I went to sleep last night satisfied with my level of wisdom and worldly sophistication. Then I woke up this morning a moron all over again. It’s like I know nothing. I’ve never even heard of this sexual quackery that this guy engages in. Oh hell, there’s even a proper name for it — urethral sounding. I mean, am I just an idiot or what? I must just not be living right or hanging out in the right social circles because I have never heard of such a thing in my life.
Call me missionary prude in the sex department but I fall miserably short here (no pun). I’m trying to figure out what to blame for this lack of understanding. I just think I’ve never really taken the proper amount of time for myself to figure myself out. I’ve never just been sitting there and suddenly:
“Saaay… know what might feel pretty good — where’s my phone charging cable?!?”
So there’s that, then the other baffling half is that the brother lies to the doctors telling them that he accidentally ate the cable rather than inserted it into his bladder, sending them on a wild goose chase in his abdomen with scalpels. This is all just so disturbing:
“Well, Mr. Johnson… this is indeed quite puzzling; we really shredded the BeJesus out of your stomach but could find neither hide nor hair of your charging cable. Might I be so bold as to suggest you invest in another cable?”
“Well sure but the point is I’m in extreme pain, Doc!”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah… the pain part.”
“That’s peculiar, Doctor, I’m pretty sure I ate it. But you know… it could be that I actually inserted it all the way into my penis… yeah, I’m pretty sure that is what I actually did… Doctor…”
“We-heh-heh-helll then… let’s get you back into surgery, sport!”
Even those folks that shove coke bottles up their asses and lose them tend to be frank and direct with their surgeons. They don’t lie… well they all do lie about how the bottle got there, indicating that they fell on the bottle while naked, but they don’t say they accidentally ate it.
You have to understand that there is no pretense or reasonable expectation of dignity preservation once you are in an exam room with a backward coke up your fourth point of contact. Yeah, dignity is gone; never going to get that back so just be honest with the doc and get it over with.
Does how the object got there really and truly make a difference in the surgeon’s strategy?
“How did it get there you ask, Daktari? Listen… can we just focus on the salient fact that the coke bottle is in there, and I need you to get it out — period; never mind the secondary entertainment value.”
Airline Passenger Threatens Flight with Death over Black Jesus
There’s no shortage of stupid stuff to get crazy over. The Church of Social Justice has an abundant supply of unstable creeps aiming to make spectacles of themselves.
So this guy threatens everyone on board his flight from Seattle to Chicago with death unless they accept that Jesus was a black man. Right; now clam down there, Scooter. I accept that Jesus was a black man because that makes zero difference to me. I actually thought George Floyd was our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ until he turned out to be a mere mortal and threw that theory of mine right out the window.
I just don’t get this kid’s sudden jump from zero straight to the jugular — “accept that Jesus was black or I’ll kill everyone.”
“Ok, ok… my dude, Jesus was a black man — we’re all good here. No death threats are necessary. Just keep my Lord out of Chiner and you’ll get no pushback from me!
It took a couple of sizeable pipe-hitters to subdue the punk. One of the brothers was a black man so that they have been the son of God right there; hard to say.
Radio talk show hostess Dianna Ploss heard some workers speaking Spanish near her office and thought it prudent to rush out there and rudely give them the ol’ you’re-in-America-so-speak-American speech. All her miserable life she has been so angry and damned if anyone could figure out just why she was such a hater. We finally know that it’s these phuqrz in the country not speaking ‘Muriacan English that set her off so. I take satisfaction in knowing that I can piss off Ms. Ploss in at least seven languages.
This sort of person has always perplexed me. There are so many like her that for some reason lose their $hite when they hear someone speaking a foreign language. What is up with that? Could it be that it irks them that they can’t stand not being able to understand the conversation and that it may be about them? Is it really un-American to speak Spanish here?
Well, I think that is a show of ignorance to get so upset over such a thing. But what I find an even greater show of ignorance is to record the episode. But wait there’s more! She uploaded her racist harangue to a public forum and promptly lost her job almost before her ass hit her office chair.
What she really needs to do is go to Chiner and bitch out all those Chineez phuqrz for putting our English on their Chineez shirts — she would have a field day. She’ll be coming home with a hefty heist of Ice-G’s Gung Ho Garments and accessories.
Now for a quick cameo appearance from my choice for this week’s winner of the SOFREP master DIY CV-19 protective mask. He’s breathing easy and safe, though his Holly four-barrel is now accumulating an unhealthy dose of dirt and dust. I’m a tad skeptical of a car’s air filter ability to scrub air down to the HEPA levels that we need for biohazards (ten microns), but this brother still gets the award just for badassery points.
Chineez Get Hip with American Print Tee-Shirts
One day I wore my trousers backward to kindergarten. Just shy of my school I became aware of the fact. I was petrified — UTTERLY petrified. I hid in a ditch until all the kids were at school, then I darted to the bathroom to switch them back around. Thank you Black Jesus for the Hip-Hop culture that now dictates you aren’t even really cool unless you do wear your pants backward — right, Chris-Cross?
I recounted that story to ask you this: if you wore a shirt to the mall that had a snappy-looking French phrase on the front, then ran into a busy-body like me who told you:
“Dude, that French phrase on your shirt says: ‘I WANT TO EAT A DICK’.”
Would you turn into kindergarten geo and hide, or would you just go about your day sporting your dick shirt? I wonder then what all these Chineez folks would do if I approached them and told them about the garbage that was printed on their shirts. Might be fun!
I am planning a batch of tees soon that will have another series of English phrases on them. Here are a few ideas:
“Only Steals Ideas from Other Countries; Has No Original Thoughts”
“Eats Stuff that The Rest of the World Throws in Garbage”
“Thinks the Metacarpal-Phalangial Articulation is There to Stop your Finger from Going any Farther into Your Nose”
“Believes Rice is Great When You Want, Like, Two Thousand of Something”
“Still Thinks Bei Jing and Peking are Two Different Cities”
“Steals Cheap Knock-Off Merchandise Then Counterfeits it”
And now on to the shirts!
Now, I might throw on a shirt with a foreign phrase that I don’t really understand, but what I would not do is put such a shirt on my three-year-old child unless I understood very clearly what it meant.
Once again, it’s the whole little kid thing that prevents me from getting a decent laugh over this sort of Thomas Foolery — there oughta be a law, by gumption! Yeah, let’s leave the Lord and the Little ones out of our blasphemous apparel.
This message dovetails nicely in this weekend’s forum. I think it would a serendipitous thing to be on a flight with that Seattle SJW puke who threatened to kill the whole airplane if they didn’t immediately accept Black Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Here he finally made it to 27 years old and got it all figured out that the Son of Man was a black man — and he may have been — and all things in his universe were centerlined once again. But then here comes ol’ a$$hole Ice-G wagging his finger:
“Nope… sorry, dude; Jesus wasn’t black, and he wasn’t white — he was a Chocolate Freakin’ Jesus! Suck on that for a while, Skippy!
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