Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Up Your Noes with a Rubber Chicken
The Best thing about apple sauce is that it has the word sauce in its name. If we called it apple mush, or apple splatter it wouldn't be so popular. If you disagree, you can shut up. Apple crumble is delicious though, what do you think of that, mr. opinionated? It's tough to say, considering the nature of the plot of the book Ray was authoring, you'd think he had some experience with carpentry. Or contracting. Truthfully,
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
i don't think it is pudding
on odd days i get up. even days i send my robot me out to do my day things. so on odd days my me robot stays in bed all day. often on these odd days while i'm out doing my day things i wonder about what my me robot is thinking aboooooooooooot. I imagine it's thinking about my inability to use capital letters properly, or perhaps it's counting the atoms in the fluffballs that float to the ceiling. Maybe it's not thinking and it's just off. Maybe its got my laptop and has cleverly deduced my clever password, and is secretly updating my blog. My favorite kind of toast is not burned toast. Too burned is gross. Frying pans. Radio knobs. Analog listening devices. Sometimes give it my all, sometimes I fall short of "the mark". Mark is a penis. And his penis left a mark on the toll collectors underwear. see? see what i'm talking about? i didn't write any of this, but yet and somehow it appears here. robot me must be partial to omelets. I keep making omelets and turning to get the salt and finding the omelet gone. What omelet? you know what omelet. the one i was just about to salt and you took. i didn't take any omelet. you did too. i did NOT. whatever. you know what? you can totally type stuff in this box. Just log in, click the button, and fuckin' type stuff. It's like magic! penis magic.
Did you know that there is magic all around you? It's the truth. I went around the corner the other day, and I saw magic collected in the corner, as if magic wind had blown it into a drift there. But who cares about that. The point is, if you wanted to just snap your fingers and say "ABRA CADABRA A LA PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES!" in hopes that a sandwich would appear in front of you which you could consume with a big peanut buttery smile on your face, you totally couldn't. Why? Because you suck at magic. It's not that it doesn't exist, it's just that you can't do it. If you wanted to learn you'd have to fly into space. Not outer space ether. Don't think so narrowly. I'm talking about the space where dreams are made. You'll never get it, so I feel bad for you. You really need to thing about when the children cry. You need to think about why you miss the toilet when you pee in the dark. You need to look further under the couch when you sweep. It's dusty under there.
Once when it was Tuesday I fucking stubbed my toe. I thought I was going to loose control and punch children it hurt so bad. Fuck! Which is funny because that TOTALLY happened to you too this weekend. What the fuck?! Weirder still is that I thought that I wrote "I fucking stabbed my toe" and the mental image that evoked was hilarious. Ok, I need me to focus more on writing something about things that are not pudding. Call the doctor!
My plate is full and I wear a lot of hats too. I also like to keep a lot of balls in the air; if you know what I mean. It's stupid, but I do it all the time. Tell me it's not big deal. Tell me and I'll try to incorporate a little more in to it. I tried it and it was too promotional. Hold on, hold on, hold on. why isn't this fucking opening... here it is. What do you want me to do? Get rid of the call to action? Ok. Except you keep forgetting to show me how the young ones learn slowly and are effectively stupid so they try to eat plastic bags and shit. Seriously? What are you like a baby or something?
I actually did have pudding after dinner last night. It made a huge mess all over the TV screen when Ray came in and threw it against the chandalier, which dispersed it elegantly across the room. Thanks a lot, Ray.
Did you know that there is magic all around you? It's the truth. I went around the corner the other day, and I saw magic collected in the corner, as if magic wind had blown it into a drift there. But who cares about that. The point is, if you wanted to just snap your fingers and say "ABRA CADABRA A LA PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES!" in hopes that a sandwich would appear in front of you which you could consume with a big peanut buttery smile on your face, you totally couldn't. Why? Because you suck at magic. It's not that it doesn't exist, it's just that you can't do it. If you wanted to learn you'd have to fly into space. Not outer space ether. Don't think so narrowly. I'm talking about the space where dreams are made. You'll never get it, so I feel bad for you. You really need to thing about when the children cry. You need to think about why you miss the toilet when you pee in the dark. You need to look further under the couch when you sweep. It's dusty under there.
Once when it was Tuesday I fucking stubbed my toe. I thought I was going to loose control and punch children it hurt so bad. Fuck! Which is funny because that TOTALLY happened to you too this weekend. What the fuck?! Weirder still is that I thought that I wrote "I fucking stabbed my toe" and the mental image that evoked was hilarious. Ok, I need me to focus more on writing something about things that are not pudding. Call the doctor!
My plate is full and I wear a lot of hats too. I also like to keep a lot of balls in the air; if you know what I mean. It's stupid, but I do it all the time. Tell me it's not big deal. Tell me and I'll try to incorporate a little more in to it. I tried it and it was too promotional. Hold on, hold on, hold on. why isn't this fucking opening... here it is. What do you want me to do? Get rid of the call to action? Ok. Except you keep forgetting to show me how the young ones learn slowly and are effectively stupid so they try to eat plastic bags and shit. Seriously? What are you like a baby or something?
I actually did have pudding after dinner last night. It made a huge mess all over the TV screen when Ray came in and threw it against the chandalier, which dispersed it elegantly across the room. Thanks a lot, Ray.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Theory of pork chops and condensation.
The issues began with the robot. It ended with some guy getting punched in the spleen after having some painful corns on his feet removed... but thats another story. The robot however, was tasked with having to find a word that rhymes with orange. Because its brain is a difference engine rather than a comparator or a hot dog boiler, the result it ended up giving was: "hand job". Occasionally people will get hurt doing simple tasks. This time was no different from usual, but don't you think for a second that boiling hot dogs is a simple task. Which reminds me, ,my mom always said, "lick me I'm Salty". I kinda thought she was talking about the hot dogs she was boiling, but one day I found out what she really meant. What she meant was to tell me how annoying it was when I persisted in sticking pieces of cake in tupperware and not refrigerating them so they got moldy and then offering them to her unaware that they were past their prime. I thought I was doing a good thing! Cake and mold are fucking dumb.
So, now that the robot had a word that rhymes with Orange it's next directive was to take this information and share it with the world. However, things didn't go as planned. Having eaten the orange it was given as an example at the beginning of the task, its mouth was all rusted shut. Not to mention that it was full of rind and boiled hot dogs. and moldy cake your mom would try and hide after you gave her the old cake in the tupper ware with the cracked lid that nobody could crack no matter how hard they tried, until one day they approached truckasaurus, and truckasaurus cracked that shit. Right in two. Cleaved. stupid truckasaurus. always cracking my shit. don't do it, truckasaurus, that is my shit i and it doesn't need cracking. so just stop it and sit down. gonna deflate your fucking tires. truckasaurus. jerk. in fact, if you want to help why don't you crack the robot's jaw so you can eat like a snake. God I love truckasaurus. If I was a giant robot dinosaur chick I would ask truckasaurus out on a date to sip a giant robot milkshake from two dinosaur straws. We'd rollerskate there because our tires are runflats in case some stupid jerk tried to deflate them. Speaking of rollerskatess, have you ever noticed how when you buy a bag of those baby carrots, that aren't really baby carrots, they are really just carrots that somebody chopped up and carved to look like baby carrots, yeah, those baby carrots, so have you ever noticed that there is always like a half cup of baby carrot liquid that you need to drain out of the bag or the baby carrots will be all slimy? well, i think you do know what i'm talking about, but what i don't think you realize is how putting that baby carrot liquid on your corns before rollerskating can make you write retarded run-on sentences.
My favorite fish is blue and fits in my hat. I brought it to make love to hamburger helper. Right in his glove! Not his long slinky red satin glove that he wears with evening gowns and pearls to fancy fund raisers. But the white one he wears on TV. Like when he's in commercials and stuff that usually air during soap operas because typically, women watch soap operas, and as any high school trigonometry teacher can tell you, women love gloves. They love gloves almost as much as prison guards do. It's pretty serious glove love.
Have you ever banged a glove??? Right on the noggin with a shovel or a trowel or something? They have stout hearts and sometimes grippy bits or knuckle protectors. It feels like your growing potatoes out of your nostril, but it's nice too. Bono does it all the time. To his walrus friend, Steve. Oh god, Steve - he is quite a character! I remember this one time when Bono was banging a fireman's rubber boot, Steve came over to ask if he wanted a piece of Twinkie he was eating at the time. Bono got all pissed off and shoved that Twinkie right in Steve's walrus ear. All of a sudden Steve took the boot Bono was banging and shoved it up the ass of an older woman who happened to be walking by. Then Steve turned to Bono and asked "Hey, does this Twinkie make my brain realize that the woman I just violated is actually one of my time travelling ancestors?" Obviously the answer is NO because there's no Guarana in that Twinkie. But, as we all know, Twinkies don't need guarana to fuck you up. especially if they are inserted into your ear where the twinkie magic is absorbed through your inner ear membrane lining. which is why ray didn't realize that he was fantasizing he was not just bono, but the unholy trinity of bono, the old woman with the boot in her ass, and steve, bono's friend, the walrus with said twinkie stuck in his walrus ear. and it was right about the time that ray was not realizing this that he had eaten a piece of moldy cake that truckasorus gave him the day before. What a trip!
My favorite fish is blue and fits in my hat. I brought it to make love to hamburger helper. Right in his glove! Not his long slinky red satin glove that he wears with evening gowns and pearls to fancy fund raisers. But the white one he wears on TV. Like when he's in commercials and stuff that usually air during soap operas because typically, women watch soap operas, and as any high school trigonometry teacher can tell you, women love gloves. They love gloves almost as much as prison guards do. It's pretty serious glove love.
Have you ever banged a glove??? Right on the noggin with a shovel or a trowel or something? They have stout hearts and sometimes grippy bits or knuckle protectors. It feels like your growing potatoes out of your nostril, but it's nice too. Bono does it all the time. To his walrus friend, Steve. Oh god, Steve - he is quite a character! I remember this one time when Bono was banging a fireman's rubber boot, Steve came over to ask if he wanted a piece of Twinkie he was eating at the time. Bono got all pissed off and shoved that Twinkie right in Steve's walrus ear. All of a sudden Steve took the boot Bono was banging and shoved it up the ass of an older woman who happened to be walking by. Then Steve turned to Bono and asked "Hey, does this Twinkie make my brain realize that the woman I just violated is actually one of my time travelling ancestors?" Obviously the answer is NO because there's no Guarana in that Twinkie. But, as we all know, Twinkies don't need guarana to fuck you up. especially if they are inserted into your ear where the twinkie magic is absorbed through your inner ear membrane lining. which is why ray didn't realize that he was fantasizing he was not just bono, but the unholy trinity of bono, the old woman with the boot in her ass, and steve, bono's friend, the walrus with said twinkie stuck in his walrus ear. and it was right about the time that ray was not realizing this that he had eaten a piece of moldy cake that truckasorus gave him the day before. What a trip!
When Ray finally came too his senses, it was too late. The only thing that could make him feel better was a trip to the san andreas fault, where the wild frigonometry wizard makes noodle pies which are said to cure any ail. Which is bullcrap because I had one once when I had herpes, and it cured my herpes and gave me whooping cough. I was pissed! But anyway, maybe if ray went and found him he'd be okay. It's very hard to find this guy though, you need to relax. just calm the fuck down. ok? ok, that's better. and that bit about herpes and whooping cough, well that was a mistake. what i meant to say was "hey, what's up?"
Thursday, August 24, 2006
THE FINAL COUNT DOWN
doodle doo dooo.
doodle doo do doooo...
doodle doo dooo ....
doodle do do do do dooo ..
doodle dooooo....
doodle do do do do do
DOOO
DOOOOOOOOOOOOO
doodle doo do doooo...
doodle doo dooo ....
doodle do do do do dooo ..
doodle dooooo....
doodle do do do do do
DOOO
DOOOOOOOOOOOOO
flavia in your ear
Ray and caffeine just don't mix. We all found this out on the day he wore his favorite Sicilian leather pants (which, by the way, cost twice as much as Corinthian leather pants). He was describing his designs for self contained interstellar travel devices to Barry who was looking on coldly as if Ray were describing how to wipe out an entire collony of egg robots by hard boiling them in a vat of robot water. Alarmed by his tepid facial expressions, Ray paused and shot Barry a look that made Barry feel uncomfortable. The kind of uncomfortable a person gets when they know who this part of the story is being written by (it's andy, this part was written by ANDY!). Barry became so Furious that he took a stack of paper plates and started spooning piles and piles of egg robots onto it ... and made his way over to the table upon which sat a vat of boiling robot water. Ray lifted a single eyebrow in subtle protest, and Barry had made his point. Then with said, previously mentioned point Barry began to spear the baby robot eggs as they reached a nice firm but not hard boil in the piping hot robot water. Then Barry fed the gigged, firm-boiled, robot egg to Joey Tempest, the lead singer for Europe. He was singing "The Final Countdown" and Barry just wanted him to shut UP. Ray started looking up the origin of gigging on wikipedia and found he really didn't have time to be wasting on research silly things like using a flashlight to stun a frog before imapling it on a traditionally trident tipped spear. No, Ray had other fish to lick, other more serious matters that needed his steadfast, infallible moonwalk. My god he loves going to high school dances. Remember the time with that chick with the ponytail? Oooooh YES YOU DO REMEMBER!! Yeah, that chick! When ever ray did hs infallible moon walk she would change in to something more egg salad you fuck! She would change into something more egg-fucking-salad!
You know what, the egg salad topic reminds me about something... something I kinda struggle with from time to time. It reminds me that you can't just put a bunch of fucking food in a bowl and call it a mother fucking salad! Just because it's cold and in a bowl with a lot of other crap dosen't nessasarly mean it should be called a salad. You could just call it "A bunch of shit mixed togeter served cold". Another gripe I have is in the naming of salads. Half the time the name dosen't even make sence. Take Chef for example! Come on, who are we fooling? Using the same salad naming logic we used to name egg salad (a saldad where eggs are the main ingredient) I would expect to find bits of choped up chef in a chef salad. Maybe at one time there was, and they simply replaced the bloody bits and pieces of cut up chef with ham and backon. But then again - there are some fucking eggs in a chef salad too, so really you should correctly call a chef salad a hors'deuvre or whatever and then shut the fuck up and sit down. Keep cool, or I'll come right over there and stab you in the jaw.
Anyway, back to Ray moon walking and making that chick feel like she was some kind of cheap secrete that everybody knows about. Ray moved his hand threw his sliky black hair as if he was petting a completely deranged and psycotic person who obsesses over salads and shit like that to the point that medication is clearly the right course of action. can you dig it? ray sure could. but unfortuanately for raysome one else had also dug it. a big hole in the ground that was right behind him and his moonwalking ass. step, slide. step, slide. ray got down to the beat. Man I love my girlfriend. Ray loves my girlfriend too, which is sometimes awkward, the kind of awkward that makes you feel kinda all warm and tingly inside like when you drink hot choclate thats too hot and has tiny, little, electro-hyper-charged micro robots from sears & robuck in it. yeah, thats awkward, man. but let me tell you what is really interesting about the tiny, little, electro-hyper-charged micro robots from sears & robuck. they can moonwalk! which remeinds me i was about to tell you about ray and the giant peach. When Ray said that he coulden't remember what fun is for did he mean that his pants were too tight? I'm guessing it was nothing of the sort, considering the incredible tray of pastries he was carrying. And occasionally nibbling from. What a bitch. Or should i saywhat a bitchin' tray of giant peach pastries? for the truth of the matter is that Ray was moonwalking backwards whilst carrying a tray of giant peach pastries he had recently aquired in a hostile take over of the Happy Sunny Plate Diner that is located on the lower level of the Sears and Robuck department store — which by the way has an excellent egg salad, the Happy Sunny PLate Diner, not the Sears and Robuck. Now, you may be wondering why Ray would do this, and I suspect a lot of you are assuming it has to do with his leather pants, the ones I mentioned earlier, but you'd be wrong, the kind of wrong that has more to do with ignorance than stupidity so don't be too down on yourself. Ray is a complicated man, and you my simple reader have no chance of ever devining the true motives that make a man like him tick — tick like a little, fucking Chicken Salad.
Paul; it's OVER.
You know what, the egg salad topic reminds me about something... something I kinda struggle with from time to time. It reminds me that you can't just put a bunch of fucking food in a bowl and call it a mother fucking salad! Just because it's cold and in a bowl with a lot of other crap dosen't nessasarly mean it should be called a salad. You could just call it "A bunch of shit mixed togeter served cold". Another gripe I have is in the naming of salads. Half the time the name dosen't even make sence. Take Chef for example! Come on, who are we fooling? Using the same salad naming logic we used to name egg salad (a saldad where eggs are the main ingredient) I would expect to find bits of choped up chef in a chef salad. Maybe at one time there was, and they simply replaced the bloody bits and pieces of cut up chef with ham and backon. But then again - there are some fucking eggs in a chef salad too, so really you should correctly call a chef salad a hors'deuvre or whatever and then shut the fuck up and sit down. Keep cool, or I'll come right over there and stab you in the jaw.
Anyway, back to Ray moon walking and making that chick feel like she was some kind of cheap secrete that everybody knows about. Ray moved his hand threw his sliky black hair as if he was petting a completely deranged and psycotic person who obsesses over salads and shit like that to the point that medication is clearly the right course of action. can you dig it? ray sure could. but unfortuanately for raysome one else had also dug it. a big hole in the ground that was right behind him and his moonwalking ass. step, slide. step, slide. ray got down to the beat. Man I love my girlfriend. Ray loves my girlfriend too, which is sometimes awkward, the kind of awkward that makes you feel kinda all warm and tingly inside like when you drink hot choclate thats too hot and has tiny, little, electro-hyper-charged micro robots from sears & robuck in it. yeah, thats awkward, man. but let me tell you what is really interesting about the tiny, little, electro-hyper-charged micro robots from sears & robuck. they can moonwalk! which remeinds me i was about to tell you about ray and the giant peach. When Ray said that he coulden't remember what fun is for did he mean that his pants were too tight? I'm guessing it was nothing of the sort, considering the incredible tray of pastries he was carrying. And occasionally nibbling from. What a bitch. Or should i saywhat a bitchin' tray of giant peach pastries? for the truth of the matter is that Ray was moonwalking backwards whilst carrying a tray of giant peach pastries he had recently aquired in a hostile take over of the Happy Sunny Plate Diner that is located on the lower level of the Sears and Robuck department store — which by the way has an excellent egg salad, the Happy Sunny PLate Diner, not the Sears and Robuck. Now, you may be wondering why Ray would do this, and I suspect a lot of you are assuming it has to do with his leather pants, the ones I mentioned earlier, but you'd be wrong, the kind of wrong that has more to do with ignorance than stupidity so don't be too down on yourself. Ray is a complicated man, and you my simple reader have no chance of ever devining the true motives that make a man like him tick — tick like a little, fucking Chicken Salad.
Paul; it's OVER.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
my dad can beat up your dad
After my dad saw his pet goat get turned into cheese all hell broke loose! FONDUE! FONDUE EVERYWHERE!!! My heart was raceing like a bobcat on rollerskates. If you had been there you would be able to describe the most horrible, horrific, repulsive and rediculous events EVER! For example, ( since I was there I can indeed give examples ) there was a HUGE vein sticking out of the sandwich. I was like ... are you frigg'n kidding me with this? So the guy said " SHALLOON!!!!" This threw everyone in earshot off guard b ecause as anyone can tell you, shalloon is a lightweight wool fabric that is used chiefly for coat linings. My Dad yelled back "Did you see the size of that gopher?!! My Goodness!" And then mary's little lamb was like "I know. I was the one who thought it would be a good idea to get agame of pick-up-dead-goat-polo like they play in afghanistan." Okay I lied - they totally don't do that there but whatever. So my dad was like "I LOVE ASIAGO CHEESE MAN!" And they do so play polo with dead goats, dumbass! And my dad was all like "yeah, dead goats." Then, when the lights dimmed, a man named Michael Bolton turned to the mob of crazy pick-up-dead-goat-polo players and began to draw shapes in patches of dirt. He drew things like mc hammer pants and other stuff you c an get in happy meals. Which by the way aren't very happy. They are in fact quite sad, as they are sure to be eaten, and thus their existance on this world is over. More over happy meals have no religious beliefs and no afterlife. Quite sad indeed. But I don't really care and I bet you don'teither 'cause there was seriously like zero character development on that one.
Anyway, Ray feels that this story is really coming along!
Good thing cause otherwise the tentacled beast would do terrible things to baby seals in Antarctica. Did you know that seals eve can wash away that dirty feeling you sometimes get? But don't feel weird -- everybody gets that feeling sometimes. It's often referred to as "horse chestnuts."
This is not the greatest story in the world ... it is but a tribute! A tribute to your mom. No, that's a big fat lie. Actually this is a tribute to the literary genius that is me, not the me that is you, but the me that is me the author. so back. Lemme take you back to the subject! My dad could beat up your dad. Too bad your dad has a dead goat for a friend! Dumbass your dad is my dad as we are both just me the author! Of course. So anyway, as I was saying ... the goldfish couldn't care if it was as smushed whoops! Off the page. Learn to tyoe fools!!!! Goats are foolish creatures. With goatees and bad table manners. My grandmother used to hate my table manners but then I showed her what's up. Just because I had a habit of taking my pants off while smearing lasagne all over my belly, she HAD to make a comment like "You make my inner thigh itch!" And "Why is my skin all burnt and weird. I think I'm sick. Can I go home now?" But you were like "NO!" Dick. Why are there beans here? Boston baked beans are making me randy! Yeah baby! Lies. Are all we are used to hearing from the toilet. Did we mention that my dad could beat up your dad? My father had spent many years in the navy working his way up to Navy Seal. For hours he would train in rice fields building his strength and consuming carbohydrates for fuel. He mastered the five claw dragonfist technique which he used in Desert Storm. He found the technique useless against certain foes though. Like giant turkeys. In spain. Yeah. How do they get their helmets so shiny ... if you know what I mean. Which I'm sure you do since we're married. So we "know" eachother. And Stuff. There's totally at least 10 lines left on this sheet of paper. 1 But as far as I know that's not enough to tell the story of my favourite giant squid.
Anyway, Ray feels that this story is really coming along!
Good thing cause otherwise the tentacled beast would do terrible things to baby seals in Antarctica. Did you know that seals eve can wash away that dirty feeling you sometimes get? But don't feel weird -- everybody gets that feeling sometimes. It's often referred to as "horse chestnuts."
This is not the greatest story in the world ... it is but a tribute! A tribute to your mom. No, that's a big fat lie. Actually this is a tribute to the literary genius that is me, not the me that is you, but the me that is me the author. so back. Lemme take you back to the subject! My dad could beat up your dad. Too bad your dad has a dead goat for a friend! Dumbass your dad is my dad as we are both just me the author! Of course. So anyway, as I was saying ... the goldfish couldn't care if it was as smushed whoops! Off the page. Learn to tyoe fools!!!! Goats are foolish creatures. With goatees and bad table manners. My grandmother used to hate my table manners but then I showed her what's up. Just because I had a habit of taking my pants off while smearing lasagne all over my belly, she HAD to make a comment like "You make my inner thigh itch!" And "Why is my skin all burnt and weird. I think I'm sick. Can I go home now?" But you were like "NO!" Dick. Why are there beans here? Boston baked beans are making me randy! Yeah baby! Lies. Are all we are used to hearing from the toilet. Did we mention that my dad could beat up your dad? My father had spent many years in the navy working his way up to Navy Seal. For hours he would train in rice fields building his strength and consuming carbohydrates for fuel. He mastered the five claw dragonfist technique which he used in Desert Storm. He found the technique useless against certain foes though. Like giant turkeys. In spain. Yeah. How do they get their helmets so shiny ... if you know what I mean. Which I'm sure you do since we're married. So we "know" eachother. And Stuff. There's totally at least 10 lines left on this sheet of paper. 1 But as far as I know that's not enough to tell the story of my favourite giant squid.
Lexmark Confidential
Ray is pissed. Presently he is knocking down a large mass of Jack Daniel's, surreptitiously added to his cola from the limited edition Sharper Image flask that he keeps hidden in his file cabinet. He stumbles across the sidewalk and barely misses the banana peel which spells "impending doom" for most. But Ray's slicker, evene when inebriated, than most. I once heard Ray say that he learned the art of being slick from an old Native American medicine woman who worked part-time behind the register of his favorite Taco Bell. He also claimed she made a man of him in the parking lot that same evening, but since he was as drunk as he'd ever been when he told me this, that part of it is probably bull. Regardless, Ray managed to evade the banana peel only to step squarely on two small birds making bird love. The force of Ray's size 9.5 shoe on the small birds' bodies is enough to squash these little lovemaking birds if they were actually birds. Which they were not. They were actually the native american medicine woman and ray himself, transported back in time from that exceptionally special night. And if you'll believe that you'll believe anything.
"Marni is pissed." Ray said as he shook his thoughts of the banana and native american medicine woman. Ray had bigger things on his mind. You guys are WHACKED!!! *FArt* "WHo did that" asked ray. Was it Pat Benitar ray wondered. IT''S RICK JAMES!!!
"Rick James is my dad....And I totally saw him at starbucks. Getting a tofu drink. What a sissy..." Exclaimed Marni as she laughedf merraly at Ray and the banana. "You seriously need to think about anger management classes. And maybe even sign up for a lamaz class or something like that."
Ray pondered these wise words as he sipped back on his JD and cola. And then he realized that his JD Cola was ticking ... he freaded out for a couple moments but then the can EXPLODED and out came a bunch of little crabs and bumble bees! They shot out of the metal flask like a weasel after a six pack of Mike's hard lemonade. Or cranberry-ade. Either. It was kind of like seeing a satchel get bedazzled with all the wrong color beads and knowing that that satchel was going to be a birthday gift for you. Horrible! But not really that bad 'cause you knew all along didn't you? GODAZILLA!!!!! bono is godzilla in disguise. stupid bono. he needs to just forget it. My sister is always going to be "Busy". Busy as a rhyno at a discotec with sore feet and a hat made of marbles. Yeah thats busy!
So Ray sat down to eat some nuts on a pencil so that his wife would not have to suffer any longer. She had been hankerin' for a hunk of cheese. And you know what I mean. If you know what I mean.
Oh I know what you mean, and by you I mean me, and what I mean is she really wanted a piece of raw nostril sauce. Which, in Scandinavia is also referred to as "Pudding." Hello Bono Rocks!
Seriously it was a scandal. Of epic Scandinavian proportions. Ray should have been apalled, but he wasn't. He was simply balling with laughter. Ray's laughing provoked a near by horned toed bullfrog that had red eyes and a larger than normal horn on its left toe. The frog was so angry at Ray's laughter that he literally wrote a book about it. The book was terrible. GOOD TO GO.
Kinda like those little lizards you see licking their toes. And junk. ooWee were trying to get lunch but frigg'n ray disappeared. Frig. Bob schnitzel was a man of his word.
All work and no play makes .... mmmmmmonkeys fly out of my friend bob's moustache.
CPD WW Marketing
X8350 Marketing Brief
August 8th, 2005
"Marni is pissed." Ray said as he shook his thoughts of the banana and native american medicine woman. Ray had bigger things on his mind. You guys are WHACKED!!! *FArt* "WHo did that" asked ray. Was it Pat Benitar ray wondered. IT''S RICK JAMES!!!
"Rick James is my dad....And I totally saw him at starbucks. Getting a tofu drink. What a sissy..." Exclaimed Marni as she laughedf merraly at Ray and the banana. "You seriously need to think about anger management classes. And maybe even sign up for a lamaz class or something like that."
Ray pondered these wise words as he sipped back on his JD and cola. And then he realized that his JD Cola was ticking ... he freaded out for a couple moments but then the can EXPLODED and out came a bunch of little crabs and bumble bees! They shot out of the metal flask like a weasel after a six pack of Mike's hard lemonade. Or cranberry-ade. Either. It was kind of like seeing a satchel get bedazzled with all the wrong color beads and knowing that that satchel was going to be a birthday gift for you. Horrible! But not really that bad 'cause you knew all along didn't you? GODAZILLA!!!!! bono is godzilla in disguise. stupid bono. he needs to just forget it. My sister is always going to be "Busy". Busy as a rhyno at a discotec with sore feet and a hat made of marbles. Yeah thats busy!
So Ray sat down to eat some nuts on a pencil so that his wife would not have to suffer any longer. She had been hankerin' for a hunk of cheese. And you know what I mean. If you know what I mean.
Oh I know what you mean, and by you I mean me, and what I mean is she really wanted a piece of raw nostril sauce. Which, in Scandinavia is also referred to as "Pudding." Hello Bono Rocks!
Seriously it was a scandal. Of epic Scandinavian proportions. Ray should have been apalled, but he wasn't. He was simply balling with laughter. Ray's laughing provoked a near by horned toed bullfrog that had red eyes and a larger than normal horn on its left toe. The frog was so angry at Ray's laughter that he literally wrote a book about it. The book was terrible. GOOD TO GO.
Kinda like those little lizards you see licking their toes. And junk. ooWee were trying to get lunch but frigg'n ray disappeared. Frig. Bob schnitzel was a man of his word.
All work and no play makes .... mmmmmmonkeys fly out of my friend bob's moustache.
CPD WW Marketing
X8350 Marketing Brief
August 8th, 2005
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