We are now officially as dull as a sackfull of wet mice.
Sister, testify. The depth of their hypocrisy is breathtaking.
I took a closer look at her stock shot--has she actually filed her teeth into point?
I am strangely reminded of the "Simpsons" episodes where Home purchased a revolver and began shooting the TV to change channels.
We're through the looking glass here, people.
You'd think if Little Doofy here was going to try the rock the grownup suit, he'd learn to tie the correct knot (a Shelby or Half-Windsor) and put in his frickin' collar stays. And friend, I don't even think George Will would wear those glasses. Maybe he should just let Mom dress him again.
No, I'm familiar with both. Jackson was a bit player in "Baby Boom" playing Keaton's babysitter. Keaton arrives at her apartment early from a business trip to find Jackson doing the Naked Antler Dance with a sailor while the baby was sleeping.
I remember being mildly turned on by her topless scene in "Baby Boom." I now hate myself, but I would die for a gif of the scene.
I joined a fraternity a a small Midwestern college in the late 70's, and I swear to sweet Jeezus the hazing was kept to almost nothing. We, however, drank enough beer and smoked enough weed to paralyze the population of Topeka. Our entire initiation rite consisted of three bonfires placed in shape of points on a triangle in the middle of a huge field. We were to run to each point, greet the brother there, do 10 pushups, and then just talk and drink beer for a few minutes. After we finished, the pledge class was blindfolded and line up in front of the main bonfire. We were then told we could join if we would drop our pants and stand in our tighty whities. When the first pledge made a move to unbuckle, the blindfold was removed with all the actives shouting, "Are you fuckers stupid? We don't do that shit!" We then proceeded to drink ourselves into comas. A year or so later, a bunch of our alums were shocked, I tell you, shocked that we'd strayed from our guiding fraternity principles of arbitrary sadism and homoerotica. They insisted we reinstitute the good ol' days. When we refused, a bunch of them actually re-matriculated as one-class part-time students, rejoined the fraternity, and wound the clock back. I quit shortly afterward--well, kick out is a better definition. But I was revenged upon them by revealing the secret handshake.
You're probably right, but this fucker terrified me. He was a real beast. And I'm kind of a really big coward.
I was your standard starving college student and was renting an ancient flat in a converted rooming house (built in the 1890’s). It was comprised of four huge rooms with 10-fooot ceilings taking up the entire side of the house, shotgun-style. The one big downside was having only one bathroom per floor. It was a shitbox, but a very cheap, quaint shitbox (replete with a neon "Rooms" sign that probably worked sometime in the 50’s).
I had moved in on the request of a close friend and was quite content. Then my friend actually graduated and took a teaching job across the state. I had another friend who was quite wild and very physically imposing; very muscular, tall, and aggressive. He was looking to move out of his mother’s house (he had recently been discharged from the military) and asked if he could move in. I had become very lonely living by myself, so I readily agreed.
The next few months were actually a lot of fun. He brought enough high-end electronics with him to stock a missile silo, and seemed to be a never-ending source of week and liquor. He was also genuinely fun—a real Wildman with whom I was mightily impressed. It was sort of like living with a relatively benign Hell’s Angel.
Things started going to hell when a mutual friend was kicked out his place by his ex and my roomie invited him to stay "for a week or two". Two weeks became four months. The place was always trashed, my food was constantly eaten, and I was subjected to a never-ending litany of verbal abuse from the two Kipper Kids.
Upon returning from a visit to my parents, I found they’d thrown a bacchanal that left a hole in the wall plaster, a stack of my beloved vinyl albums broken, and the acquisition of a dog the size of a Shetland pony. I confronted both of them later that evening a said roommate #2 had to fucking leave and take the Hound of the Baskervilles with him (I actually kind of liked the dog). I didn’t want any money for damages or rent (which he never offered to pay), I just wanted him gone. Roommate #1 stood up and told me to shut the fuck up and that no one was going anywhere, except perhaps me. I was furious and rather stupidly told him it was MY lease and MY apartment, and if I wanted him out, he was out.
Next came my first lesson in real violence. There was no ominous soundtrack, no harsh stare-down, and absolutely no preparation. Roomie #1 simply picked me up by the front of my jacket, carried me about six feet, and slammed me into the wall hard enough to leave a cartoon-like impression in the plaster. I had nothing—no clever remarks and definitely no wind in me to fight back or even protest. He then proceeded to slam my head against the wall a few times and bitchslap me silly in a particularly humiliating fashion (you know, the good old back-and-forth motion with an open hand that thoroughly unmans you).
After he’d had enough fun, he let me drop like a sack of wet mice, bleeding nicely from a cut to the back of my head and a split lip. By the way, did I mention he kept a small stash of firearms in the flat? He then told me to leave and never come back or he’d shoot me. I took the hint and ran for my life. Roomie #2 chimed in as I was fleeing, saying he was sorry things worked out like this.
The next couple of weeks were a mishmash of police escorts to get my stuff out (one of the cops was actually friends with Roomie #2 and wondered why we just couldn’t get along), my Dad and brothers confronting the roommates and saying if they laid another hand on me, he’d kill them, and having to live him the shitty, but safe, dorm for the rest of the year.
It was a small college town in the Midwest, so I would actually see them from time to time in the bars. They’d glower at me, but generally left me alone. The tragic coda to all this was Roommate #1 died six months later while working at a construction site. Outwardly, I was shocked and saddened by his death, but inside I was privately relieved I didn’t have to be worried about being beaten to death while walking home some night. Roomie #2 passed the word out to mutual acquaintances that if I showed at the funeral, he would kill me.
Roomie #2 left town soon after. He recently tried to friend me on Facebook. Evidently, he’s a big fan of Sarah Palin. He also abandoned the dog.
Seriously, people--I wouldn't let this dipshit within a city block of my home. He looks like one of the black hats Mike Holmes has to clean up after they've wrecked your bathroom addition.
Cracka, please. I love Portlandia, but getting tweaked by Fred and Carrie is like getting head-butted by a puppy. Startling, but done with love.
Testify, brother. I cannot see this done on American TV with the delightfully profane dialogue excised, and Kelly portrayed by a stick-thin model.
Absolutely. The conservitards, having dispensed with the pretense of actively serving their country and its citizenry, now merely worship Satan and feast upon the blood of puppies and infants. Really.
What? It's perfectly crommulent expression (oh, thank you, Simpsons!).
Hell awaits this delusional mental arthritic.
I guess Congressman Gasbag pushed this statement out his piehole between bites.
My rancher/farmer family still resides in North Dakota and has had approximately $30K in cattle rustled in the past few years. Insurance helps, but doesn't cover everything. Local law enforcement tries, but there are huge swaths of area to cover. My uncle resorted to arming himself and sleeping in an Airstream at night to scare off the thieves. I'm also not a big fan of using military surveillance in American skies, but your dismissive attitude towards rural citizens trying to protect their livelihood smacks of elitism.
Link Wray--It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. This just cooks.
