First of all, anywhere there are naked women you’ve got trouble. This little jewel was mad that she got pinched by the police for violating CV-19 safety measures. But being that she is better than everyone else she recognized that the laws do not apply to her.
She is probably one of those people that drive around on the shoulders of the road in a traffic jam because she and her life are so much more important than the rest of us and our pathetic lives. It’s not that she would be in fear of being late ever because she never gives a damn if she is late — her destinations are just ever so blessed to have her anytime she can get there.
It struck me as odd when I read that this took place in Spain with a Spanish woman — I thought only Americans are ever quite that vain. For her recalcitrant ranting, the judge ordered her to have her name legally changed to:
“No eres la puta quien subió desnuda sobre el auto de policia?”
When the CDC advised Americans to “stock up on canned goods,” that’s exactly what Ms. Olive Veronesi did. She posted a plea to the outside world for a resupply, when her supply dropped below a 12-pack of Coors lite. Local Samaritans sprang into actions and raced a shipment of ten more cases of beer — enough to last her another week.
First of all, anywhere there are naked women you’ve got trouble. This little jewel was mad that she got pinched by the police for violating CV-19 safety measures. But being that she is better than everyone else she recognized that the laws do not apply to her.
She is probably one of those people that drive around on the shoulders of the road in a traffic jam because she and her life are so much more important than the rest of us and our pathetic lives. It’s not that she would be in fear of being late ever because she never gives a damn if she is late — her destinations are just ever so blessed to have her anytime she can get there.
It struck me as odd when I read that this took place in Spain with a Spanish woman — I thought only Americans are ever quite that vain. For her recalcitrant ranting, the judge ordered her to have her name legally changed to:
“No eres la puta quien subió desnuda sobre el auto de policia?”
When the CDC advised Americans to “stock up on canned goods,” that’s exactly what Ms. Olive Veronesi did. She posted a plea to the outside world for a resupply, when her supply dropped below a 12-pack of Coors lite. Local Samaritans sprang into actions and raced a shipment of ten more cases of beer — enough to last her another week.
Sadly, Ms. Olive died two days later of alcohol poisoning.
I’m just kidding — she’s fine! Just a feel-good story, this one. I mean the sister only has a single beer in the evening so she is set for months. If a 93-year-old asked me for a beer, I wouldn’t ever lecture them on the evils of the devil’s drink and the rocky road to perdition paved with cocktail onions and beer nuts — I’d get them a beer!
I’m put in mind of an older brother who came up to me shyly at a gas station and finally asked me if I could help him swipe his credit card and run the gas pump. He told me he was 96 years old. I saw his credit card in his hand and assured him:
“Gimme that card, brother. At 96 years old you don’t need to be learning how to run a gas pump — yooz get a pass!”
And I filled his tank with gas. Yep… still got his credit card, me.
First of all, anywhere there are naked women you’ve got trouble. This story could evoke some debate. Not just any type of debate, but an American-style never-ending pulverization debate that gets more and more intricate as the bellyaching drags on.
I’m not going to say where I stand on the subject because I’m going to kick back and be a spineless sniveling coward on this one.
The Debate:
Do American tax dollars need to go to subsidize a vice? Well… maybe only topless clubs should get the stimulus dollars because it’s just breasts; just skin after all. But the line has to be drawn between topless and fully nude clubs, right?
But having on just high-heels is not “fully nude;” some butt-stroke will definitely use that technicality.
This is what the hashing from the panel of genius will probably look like:
“Only clubs that feature fully clothed dancers.
No clubs who offer lap dances — that’s the last straw!
The clubs can’t be the ones that serve alcohol — no way!
The clubs that only serve beer qualify for stimulus — no hard liquor.
No clubs where you are allowed to touch the dancers.
Only those strip clubs that close by 0200hrs each morning and reopen no earlier than 1000hrs.”
These may end up being the parameters that will qualify a strip club for CV-19 stimulus dollars: Those establishments that are only topless and serve only beer, that do not offer lap dances but otherwise permit the customers to touch the dancers, that close at 0200 nightly and reopen no earlier than 1000, and feature sports programs on LED screen no larger than 63 inches. No velvet paintings are allowed to be displayed at the clubs, and music must remain under 79 decibels. The rest of the strip clubs can go fuck themselves!
I didn’t know there was even a strip club lobby in Washington, but by golly — I was a fool!
Ok, I’m going to go ahead and speak my stance: strip club patrons are disgusting blue-collar slobs who can’t get girlfriends or dates and stop by to drink two beers during lunch in the company truck. When I was investigating strip joints in Albuquerque (ok, well just the two strip joints of Albuquerque) I was appalled at the number of company vehicles that were parked there throughout the day — plumbers, electricians, HVAC service bros, Rotor-Rooter… so is this a great country or what???
This is a bit of a drift but it still is in keeping with the “excursions” from the workplace practice. Here’s a sequence of photos I took of a hooker pick up here in the Windy City with the Big Shoulders, Albuquerque — hit “Like” when you see it…
A new spin on what constitutes a misuse of company assets.
It may, in fact, be an authorization clearly outlined in the company policy of that used car lot: allowing its employees to take the merchandise out during lunch to blow a hooker-induced load of sperm on the dash and the floor. And then they have that station in the yard where those dudes clean up the cars one last time prior to sending them off the lot.
I’m not judging their practices, but I don’t know. Me… I think I would have to at least point out the main features of the car to the hooker and try to make a deal so I could at least say I was working. I’m not holier than thou by any stretch, but I have a conscience and this annoying moral integrity that constantly cock-blocks a lot of life’s simple pleasures in my coin du monde.
“Miss, I could have you hummin’ along (no pun) in this little baby for just 10 percent down and $220 per month. Let’s fill out some paperwork… ok, occupation — yeah, let’s just skip that one — name?”
The thing that makes the donkey ears really pop up on the top of my head is that I purchased a 2005 Acura TL with 189k miles on it from that same used car lot for my First Daughter. I’m not going to tell her about all this because she just LOVES her car and I don’t want to introduce a stigma into that love affair.
I wonder if hookers can be recipients of CV-19 stimulus money — do they even file?
I wonder if pimps qualify for CV-19 stimulus to the tune of $500 for each hooker they run.
Every time I drive someone around to my neck in woods (coin du monde) and they ask me how much the hookers charge I have to just look at them. WTF, I should know how much they charge? Is that supposed to be some sort of entrapment? IDK, maybe they want to see if it fits into their one to two-week budget.
The moral of the story is that every time I get impressed with the country (not often) doing something really great to help itself out — Stimulus Bill 2020 — it quickly gets ruined by some greedy unscrupulous bastards like strip club owners. They don’t get it; this biblical plague is supposed to destroy those fuckers because they didn’t smear lamb’s blood over their front doors. Biblical plagues are supposed to wipe scum-sucking bottom-feeding lice like them off the planet so we can maybe one day have nice things again.
The delicate and complicated process to remove the pipe in surgery.
Punk Puts Penis in Preferred Pipe, Penis Puffs and Perpetuates Putrescence
First of all, anywhere there are naked women you’ve got trouble. Ladies, please take offense that Duderonomy prefers a metal pipe over yooz. I’m not judging the brother… ok, yeah I am judging the brother. I mourn his demise. I weep for him, his pipe — all of it! I agree: relationships are hard. They are a lot of work and really complicated — though I’m pretty sure you can get a pipe into the movies for free. I’m just trying to spitball this concept because I’m not a total monster! Let’s look on the pros side:
Pipes never say crap like: “Well, if you don’t already know what’s wrong then I’m certainly not going to tell you!”
Pipes don’t care if you wake them up in the middle of the night to lay pipe, even if they have to get up early in the morning.
Pipes don’t care if you bring other pipes into the action.
Pipes don’t care if you forget their birthdays or anniversary… or name.
Pipes don’t hog the bathroom all damned day!
Pipes don’t take your children, house, life savings, furniture, woodshop, and another miscellany after 26 years of partnership!!!
But I digress.
Twenty-one years old is right at the margin of mental development when young adults begin to fully process consequences. This poor guy could conceivably have been within mere days — nay hours — of suddenly stopping and thinking: “My God… what if this thing got stuck on my Howard Johnson for five days and I had to go to the hospital and be known for the rest of my life as: ‘Oh, look… here comes ol’ pipe-dick!'” and then he could throw the pipe away.
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