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DISCUSSION FORUM
showing all archived messages from December 2006:
| Beaver who doesn't give a Dam from IP address 69.161.64.170 writes: | | | Kris, email me. I switched computers and lost your addy.
Q, hope everything is going well for you down there in confederate land. Drop me a line.
| | posted 12/30/2006 12:33:02 AM |
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| Jungle Pants and Wife Beaters from IP address 69.161.64.170 writes: | | | I'm not here to write anything of consequence, but it's nice to have a place to make a fool of myself.
I've been on this big Throwing Stones kick lately. It started a few months ago when someone roped me into starting a blog. I rarely have anything important to say, like Jimmy Carter, but when it happens I prefer to do it face-to-face. For instance, the last important thing I said was at a Texas Roadhouse restaurant. With much authority I told the waiter he should bring me the biggest draft of Sam Adams Winter Lager available to a cowboy like myself. Calling shots at a prestigious chain restaurant like this would normally find you laying face-down in the parking lot, but I survived. So I figured, "what the hell". If I can make it here, I'll make it anywhere.
Anyway, I had a bunch more to say and that story was supposed to be a lot long, but time is killing me here, so I just want to say:
Thank your lucky stars you do not live in Yew Nork State. It's terrible up here. We've got midgets the size of totem poles! It ain't right. The water doesn't taste like wine up here regardless of what them Durfalites tell you.
Here's a decent joke:
A city cop was on his horse waiting to cross the street when a little girl stopped beside him on her shiny new bike.
“Nice bike,” the cop said, “Did Santa bring it to you?” “Yep,” the little girl said, “He sure did!”
The cop looked the bike over and handed the girl a $20 ticket for a safety violation, saying, “Next year tell Santa to put a reflector light on the back of it.”
The young girl looked up at the cop and said, “Nice horse you got there sir, did Santa bring it to you?” “Yes, he sure did,” chuckled the cop.
The little girl looked up at the cop and said, “Next year tell Santa the dick goes underneath the horse, not on top.
| | posted 12/16/2006 1:54:49 AM |
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| Dr. Bubba from IP address 24.115.80.182 writes: | | | Yup, modern technology's a wonder innit?
good seeing ya there ryan, meeting the tyke (whose obviously gonna be kicking your intellectual ass in like 5 minutes...)
i had to toss my second set plans cuz you left, althoug in my head i sand the wrong words to copperhead road all the way home...
| | posted 12/4/2006 9:31:27 AM |
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| The Spaminator from IP address 69.161.64.170 writes: | | | Damn dude, you get more Spam than a migrant worker in the back of a '79 Ford pick-em-up truck with a three speed shifter on the column. Salty ham products must be the wave of the future. There are plug-ins to fix this problem, you know?
I've found that a can of tuna on a whole wheat sunflower seeded roll is cheaper than Spam in a can, and much more nutritious. I once opened a can of Spam and was rewarded with an eight-ball of unadulterated goodness, but that was back in '71. They don't package product like they used to. Me thinks I'll see if we can reproduce that goodness at the local derelict meeting near a van down by the river. After all, a Spam in the hand is certainly worth more than a Durf in the bush.
Carry on my wayward son, there will be peace in Syracuse. Lay your weary head to rest, we'll only cry if you don't bring the mando.
By the way, below are some lyrics if you need to refresh your memory. Just remember that the white trash shall be plucked first anyway since our tractors make for a better transport vehicle than the Bradley War Tank. I've even installed a gunner window on my John Deere so I can knock off all those chowderhead terrorists. I haven't bet on it yet, but it's just a matter of time before they overthrow my local Rite-Aid pharmacist. No doubt that occurance will be dubious in the local papers...
It's time for The Spaminator to become The Sperminator.
Peace out, word to your mother, and all that shiznit. Looking forward to that Celine chick tomorrow night.
Well my name's John Lee Pettimore
Same as my daddy and his daddy before
You hardly ever saw Grandaddy down here
He only came to town about twice a year
He'd buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line
Everybody knew that he made moonshine
Now the revenue man wanted Grandaddy bad
He headed up the holler with everything he had
It's before my time but I've been told
He never came back from Copperhead Road
Now Daddy ran the whiskey in a big block Dodge
Bought it at an auction at the Mason's Lodge
Johnson County Sheriff painted on the side
Just shot a coat of primer then he looked inside
Well him and my uncle tore that engine down
I still remember that rumblin' sound
Well the sheriff came around in the middle of the night
Heard mama cryin', knew something wasn't right
He was headed down to Knoxville with the weekly load
You could smell the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road
I volunteered for the Army on my birthday
They draft the white trash first,'round here anyway
I done two tours of duty in Vietnam
And I came home with a brand new plan
I take the seed from Colombia and Mexico
I plant it up the holler down Copperhead Road
Well the D.E.A.'s got a chopper in the air
I wake up screaming like I'm back over there
I learned a thing or two from ol' Charlie don't you know
You better stay away from Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road
| | posted 12/2/2006 1:12:35 AM |
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| Dr. Bubba from IP address 24.115.80.182 writes: | | | No, god bless YOU, my gangly kanuk friend... | | posted 12/1/2006 11:05:22 AM |
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