Topic Author's Original Post - Oct 11, 2012 - 03:00pm PT
hell our founding father sent upper grade captain aid
at speedy passage when he was 17!
im lonely in my wreckless attack on the absurd!
offend me! insult my mother!
the dust should and must fly.
otherwise this becomes just another
stupid fuking facebook with
foo-foo sentiments and righteous behavior.
in my observation this chance
should not succumb to the cowardice
of the religious right.
"oh no! i'll die without loose change,
and im afraid of a firey place that isn't,"
come on suitors,
run the conversation out a little!
bring us your venerabilities;
confront risk, here on supertopo.
hell we're climbings.
as a matter of imagination
im going to hell to rearrange our furniture...
ill place a beer on mary's pillow
and hope that she gets some nooky
instead of just collapsing into
reproduction without orgasm.
anyway i've lost my intent,
but from what i recall,
i want to encourage some spark
on this site, some flair,
some folly, some ridicule,
some fist fights,
some tears,
some risk.
john. werner.
you two are guilty as hell.
you belong to the horizon that we aim for.
and here you are arguing about
relativity and ketchup.
Oh dear, hippie weirdo. . . my lot in life is keeping the peace - not being mean to people. . . so, for now, I'll have to hide my sharpness under the cloak of hilarity!
Fuk yeah! Wouldn't have it any other way, my friend!
And if the main bar is getting way too wacked for you, then there's always a few beautiful souls chillin' in a corner up on the roof... checkin' out the action below...
And the sky above.
i be not u in that nonsensical new bullage shut yer mouth I ain't done
u know we are not tailicking to an invisible chair of wood but of rock
our ugly stoney group visage
gazedly looking at ur sillen expression of dislight
and dismembering skanky pillows of surrealism not apparent to unsiders
and leaping for dykes on traveller's blues
I guess u and I been down this highway 40
more times than we both probably need
there is no metaphor for life to hand u
no rope, as it were
I sold mine
I spent too much time on the golf course
in my life to run a scam on u
I am not here to berate or scathe u
I simply think I need a Viagra gal in my life
son't care if she's a GF or a wife
hell's sister will do probably fun and unholy things if I ask
or maybe ur sister, if ya got one
as song as she thinks she is ready to crew
my sailboat with a f*#ked up U-bolt
an the end of my yard, aft by the dismal cockpit
warned is armed: if u experience a poetic frenzy lasting more than four days, read our founding father's Articles of Constipation, take two shots of scotch, one bourbon, and as many beers as u can swill.
Then we'll all get Rowdy and bring him over to introduce him to u.
And make him bag pine needles for paper with our founding fathers' pictures on them.
Or just f*#kin' sit there thinkin' about Rockjoss and Chin Low.
Sh#t, Werner's bad enough.
Hell is being chained to a single night of drinking a week
Unsaid rules made up by some chinless haggard bitch
Who somewhat resembles a certain dream pillow except her chin's smaller
But boy can she ever wag it in bed ho-man
Who are u talking to, Weej? NOONE is listening!
Cue the zBrown real thang cure for the "blues on Thus" for HERMITS
Hues shoes dues screws yews news abuse chews snooze
I'm just average, common too
I'm just like him, the same as you
I'm everybody's brother and son
I ain't different than anyone
It ain't no use a-talking to me
It's just the same as talking to you.
I'm just average, common too
I'm just like him, the same as you
I'm everybody's brother and son
I ain't different than anyone
It ain't no use a-talking to me
It's just the same as talking to you.
Love me some Dylan... good call, Brownzie.
Now, get your ass back on my thread. :) MissyLeggs
Starkweather later claimed that after killing Colvert he believed he had transcended his former self, reaching a new plane of existence in which he was above and outside the law.
I decided I was too kind and brotherly, u weenie the hardness of a pile of wet sawdust.
u need a good fingering, ya puss.
u wants to get flamed, u stands the fvck by.
Credit: survival
My niece, Sara, Ike's kid, hates Hummer IIs because of the pretentious ownership and the idea that they are so f*#king special makes her want to flip them off. She began seeking photos of the same. We should campaign to give u the finger for as long as u can take it, u puke. u are not special. u are the fame as fuss.
They've taken away the first two letters of "you" and left u with a loser named i.
u are now Secret Agent Tree. u are now just like Jason Bourne. u better have a problem with that.
Stop acting like such an old woman.
Old Woman of the Woods-Lives/lived just off the N. side road in YV near Manure Pile Buttress.
It's Hummer IIs that are the trouble. I like the idea of twin hummers, though.
I'm not finished with the Weej.
May Floridians move into your patch, erect a single-wide, and may their yipping yip-yips keep u awake at night and plague u at all hours otherwise, not to mention the duck-pond the new neighbors have installed.
Credit: survival
May u run into a horde of these.
F*#k Hummers!
Credit: zBrown
May u run into bees that are really pissed.
May u get stuck in an elevator having to listen to crap like this.
else,though, because u may see some light yet, fingering it all out like a really stuck booger, and be the better for it.
While we roast u, remember the Appreciation Thread, the birthday wishes.
u needn't worry about the killfile* or the twit list or the bozo bin.
Or the PLONK, the dreaded fish.
*(On the Taco, it should be called the Grease Pan.)
Edit: Vikings never whine. They just drink up the plundered plonk and pillage the pussy! Touche on that Muppety Madness, that Berserk Buncha Booty-hounds!
Ok, so I gotta admit I appreciate Norwegian's sensibities and his ability to, say, "turn a phrase". But try as I may (honestly, I didn't try for that long), I can't buy the whole falling up thing when I have such vivid (for me) recollections of the reverse. But then, I'm admittedly a philistine about things of this nature.
So why all the hate for us peep's from North AmericA?
edit:Us All AmericA'n Dirtbag's (& a few urban yuppies) revel in our rowdyness. It is in our nature/blood (c the American Revolution & Civil War, etc). As far as the KanooK's go, well, although i was born in the usa/seattle, all the rest of my family hails from CB, NS Canada, so I can also speak for them. The CB'ers hate the queen & piss on her likeness (canadian $ bill) whenever they get good and drunk (every saturday night) or at least all my relatives & friends did. So, yeah, they be rowdy!
Leggs shot at him. You missed. Good idea but a little over the top, really.:;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;..;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;:: In case you're wondering, this is a chain with one broke tooth.
This is a gal named Chain with several missing teeth.. ... . .....
One finger from a broad from abroad.
She looks like she's missing u!
We tried to be all nice and u weren't interested. u were unmoved.
Grandiose and profuse apologies to the Star of the Tuolumne Way
Reproduction Without Orgasm
!!!!
Credit: t*r
bring us ur vulnerabilities
foo-foo sentiments and righteous behavior
confront risk, here on supertopo
i want to encourage some spark
as a matter of imagination the dust should and must fly
at speedy passage when he was 17!
And the version WBurner concocted. No apology needed, Werner. It'strictly business. Brisk and to the point. Unlike i. There is no title as that's the Werner Way.
why spend ur time on friction?
string ur well-being out on learning to belay, dork.
i don't care how u spend ur money.
buy a used x-box from me?
fat guy sold it to me and i took it in exchage for some balls he believed were urs!
stupid!
i don't care how u earn ur dough.
just don't let the LEOs spot u pimping ur sister out here on the sidewalds of reality.
they won't just beat the emotional reality outta u!
u got a mind like a pair of dimes and a neck like a stack of 'em.
weejust know why u rave
about last year's sh#t, u knave
so ur breath u might as well save
NOONE's listening cuz they've
quit the dead and all gone u wave
u are just a HERMIT with cave
u need to be hit with a stave
so u won't keep feeling a slave
stand in the corner till u learn to behave
Yes, that's right. Some crazy bitch ghost is gonna come when ur trying to sleep but the yippers ain't having that, and the ducks are just as ducking loud and boisterous as at noone. And the old lady's dreaming about...well, I can't go there, so I won't.
Anyway, she's gonna come. And ur not. And then she's gonna make u stand in the corner while she drinks the rest of ur beer. And then the old lady's maybe gonna wake up and ask for the twenty cents change from ur sixer! And u only got four! And then u can wake up and go back to work. Ouch!
Walkin' about, even in a crowd, well
You'll pick her out, makes a bloke feel so ROWD-y.
Charley, it ain't no good to pine.
u ain't no hermit like old staretz Herman, the Russky penguin-porking pervert.
No, u like trees.
u would rather be a hermit but fate does not permit
so u ought to just try and sh#t on ur saw while it's idling
do u feel bad that trees die at ur hands?
would u rather not save their souls by immolating them, which is what u are doing, mostly wood dies by fire.
but it's the same kind of cycle that water experiences, so why give it a second thought?
they are no more grateful or hateful dead than alive.
us woodchuckin' mice certainly figured that out.
why are u upset?
really.
I'll send u a tenner if u figure it out, Sawbuck.
Herman, the patron loonie of Alaska.
On a mission from God to save the penguins, who turned on him in the end.
Meantime, I am braying anovena to startz Herman on ur behalf and for the souls of all the faithfully departed trees u have victimized, wittingly or unwittingly, by omission or commision.
Staretz Herman's life as a mystic began when St. Mary, the so-called woman who gave birth to Jesus of Nazareth, favored him with a cure when she visited him in the night. OOOO-oooooh, OOOO-oooooh! A ghost!
u are controlled when u write. why fight it? why? u, always with the y, but seldom seen in print together. this is a simpson's episode.
: coarse or boisterous in behavior : rough; also : characterized by such behavior [rowdy local bars]
— row·di·ly adverb
— row·di·ness noun
— row·dy·ish adjective
Examples of ROWDY
a rowdy game of basketball
[a rowdy but good-natured group of teenagers]
"I am the porter that was barbarously slain in Fleet Street. - By the Mohocks and Hawkubites was I slain, when they laid violent hands upon me. They put their hook into my mouth, they divided my nostrils asunder, they sent me, as they thought, to my long home; but now I am returned again to foretell their destruction."
"From Mohock and from Hawkubite, Good Lord, deliver me! Who wander through the streets at night, Committing cruelty. They slash our sons with bloody knives, And on our daughters fall; And if they murder not our wives, We have good luck withal Coaches and chairs they overturn, Nay, carts most easily; Therefore from Gog and Magog, Good Lord, deliver me!"
May the Hawk u bite bite back!
May the hectors find ur weak spots!
May the Scourers wipe ur ass!
May the Nickers give u tiny nicks on ur soul!
May the Muns divide ur buns and sell 'em for lard to the Tityre Tus who'll then take that lard and use it to grease the rails u'll be riding to that hell of urs.
These Tacos got no depth to their rowdiness. They lack the killer instinct born of too much exposure to this man, the prince of darkness himself and ur mentor.
ur just another insignificant branch of the insect subfamily family Scarabaeinae, which includes 5,000 species.
ur henceforth known to pseudo-science as Stipes tragula velum, the blind log roller, a species of dung beetle, a dead head-banger's nightmare.
u serve NOONE but ur self by whining.
So stop mooning. Let us help ur ass out.
Moonshine, shadows, homemade wine
sleepy time moon dreams, and blue beams and new skemes
glad time, night waves, whirling by
memories of moonshine and our times and slow signs
moonshine man come feed me som of your souvenirs
and I'll be gone
Mr. moonshine man
I'm you greatest fan
come on feed me now and whenever you can
mr. moonshine man
mr. moonshine man
moonshine, shadows, homemade wine
sleepy time moon dreams and blue beams and new skemes
moonshine man come feed me some of your souvenirs
and I'll be gone
mr. moonshine man I'm your greatest fan
ad nauseam
Who knows the story of the Curse of the Chumash?
I know of the SoCal Pumphouse boys can tell u the story of rowdy Chumash, as opposed to Mohocks.
The Catalina Lady, Lee Ann, might know it. She's a very humane person but she might have some rowdy things to say anyhow. I doubt it, but gotta give her a shot.
It was eleven o'clock since the last Chumash wandered off looking for his bottle.
u're probably slumbered, lumbered with thoughts of what i (u) only know, impedimenta of ur twenty-cent brain. Baggage. Faggage. And possibly a reggae tune, if ur lucky.
Dreaming of a wench, a Dolt carta blanca, a big wallah screamah.
She's not a ghost of Xstasy Past. She's not ur Vers'd Nightmare, in fundamental funky style with some voice modification.
But she's a joy to dance to. Did u guys dance? Did she penetrate to u? And vice-versa?
I sure don't want to break and enter and hit ur head with this metal object. But it might be called for.
WAKE UP! Smell the rotting logs! Go chase the muttering sun as he gets with it and flip her off.
Or u can give me ur money. But u should listen to this first.
Ev'ry body's laughing. Ev'ry body'a happy at you.
Such amen, old man. Always shouts out somethin' obscene.
Well, you should hate Polly Ethel Eenpam. She hates wood, not plastic, like a few, but plastic has it's uses, as u should but u don't. What's....
Oh, look out!!!! Sunday's off the phone to Monday, Friday's gone on walkabout, gone and who's gonna help u now, Weej? u're swampin' for ur self now. Now THAT'S a bitch.
And that bitch worked fifteen clubs a day and what do u do but sit there and whine.
u must have known the answer, too, but it so so doesn't make sense, does it?
WWJD?
Jelly Garcia, I mean. He would dig this crappy Beatle's opus and do something with it. He'd chop it with his ax. He'd strangle it and kill it and make it grateful, damn it to hell. Were he to damn it to hell and it were it grateful still, he'd put it on ice and let it simmer down, then watch it melt, collect it in a bottle, adulterate it with some faint blue tie dye and some soul, and sing Ripple, hitting the bottle beteween verses.
Take a lesson from this beating, or I'll swear I'm u in the streets of Reality City and say, "i'm pimping my seester." Which I would never do. I am not Mex and noone would believe me. "But she is mi hermana, verdado!" Then they'd ask me to sing Me 'n My Seester just to prove me wrong. And u don't know my sister, so shut the f*#k up, Wet Spot.
With u, u can never tell, so I'll be careful or it'll get all over my Facebook page. It's the "tell" on ur own face of "Maybe they do like me." It's like a smirk on a cactus, but it will come out in spines eventually. So I still don't trust. The kettle calling the pot black and fat, I know.
"Amentothatation" (Ay-men-too-that-ay-shun) is a process by which all are free to quit their hiding places once the danger is past in the game of Hide and Seek. Not to be confused with the game of Tag. It's common to both games. To be confused. About where they are, not about who's faster, the fat boy with the f*#ked-up Xbox or the Fat Gal with the lei on her neck. That's pretty confused, but u gotta go with the lei of the land. Both games are confusing. Regular kids are more amenable to them than FULLY GROWN OLD GOATS, it seems. STop playing games.
It's a little-known fact that "Amen to that!" is the called-for response to "OOOF!" and is a very similar idea to that which is expressed by the phrase, "Ollie, Ollie, oxen free," which is the traditional cry to restart the game of Hide and Seek. Ev'ry body rises from their "graves" and reports in to "Gabriel" and the whole thing begins over. This is the heavenly version of Hide and Seek, which is called there locally The Lost Sheep.
In hell they play Hyde and Sneak. I think it evolved from Off-Width and ev'ry body has to go up a never-ending, flaring, bomb-bay chimney while dodging Batso. And it's all in the dark, so u can imagine...
suffice to say,, we wouldnt last but a second or two wrastlin them gorrill-uhs..They would bat us into the spirit world with one backhand. Then rip our arms off and beat our lifeless bodies with them, and then have,, cadaver sex with us..
Having recently had an android brain implant
Whereby my neurons have been attached to microchips that can't supplant
My emotional memory that rave and rant
All personal humanity my android brain won't recant
When it says stop I want to go
When it says yes I want to say no
When it says smile I have to frown
It says goodbye I say hello
Oh oh
Why must my new brain be so
Ah ah
Why does it laugh at me
ha ha
My android brain always thinks so differently
I now contort so expo-incrementally
Android brain it gambles and would ruin me financially
The pope is coming down from the holy spaceship cloud to make an edict
That could bring order to all renegade android intelligence in this sector
Looks like there might be nothing to worry about
Oh look he wears a frown
As his scepter starts to vector
And astro physically rearrange all android intelligence by the name of Hector
Looks like I have nothing to worry about again
Oy Vey! There goes that android mind of mine!
For about 300 years Dubliners have been creating ballads, ""rec-im-itations"" and parodies commenting in verse form with a mischievous disregard for both the laws of libel and the canons of poetry on everything from social events, public affairs, the city's monuments and institutions, politics, murder cases and sporting events, to their fellow citizens and street characters. Many of the ballads, in addition to showing the Dubliner's instinct for the value of words and wit, also provide an easily accessible guide to the ordinary occurrences of life in the city and a glimpse into traditions of the past. This is the tradition in which Vincent Caprani writes. So if you want to be reminded of what happened to Gough's Statue in the ""Phaynix Park"", to learn more about The Whore of Hackballscross , or if you want to be entertained by ""pomes"" that are by turns funny, touching and nostalgic, this is the very book for you.
else,though, because u may see some light yet, fingering it all out like a really stuck booger, and be the better for it.
...
Let us know!