This cute little guy is enjoying his popcorn way too much.
This cute little guy is enjoying his popcorn way too much.
Low brow: What would happen if you microwaved a bottle of Elmer’s glue, gummi bears, or a crate of eggs? Don’t blow up your own microwave trying to find out. Let this guy make the mess.
High brow: Check out Bobby Neel Adams’ creepy-ass “age maps“.
Unibrow: Hats of meat.
The Brit’s answer to American Idol is called Britains Got Talent and it began airing daily on ITV June 9. That asshole Simon Cowell is a judge, now insulting performers in other lands. There have definitely been some highlights so far.
This little 6 year-old girl made one of the judges cry. (Ok. Ok, it was me! She made me cry.)
Imagine if your cell phone salesman opened his mouth to explain how many minutes are in Verizon’s new plan, and a voice as powerful as this filled the store. He always wanted to sing opera. It’s as if this man was born for this moment.
He's gorgeous! Don't shoot!
Pentagon officials on Friday confirmed that military leaders had considered a so-called hormonal "Gay Bomb" that could purportedly turn enemy soldiers into homosexuals and make them more interested in sex than fighting. (Source CBS news)
What would happen if a full blown attack of gay were to actually detonate? The "don't ask/don't tell" policy would be out the window. All our military homos could claim they were downwind of the rainbow overspray. The wounded could get gummit disability checks for life just for being a biggo queermo. Purple hearts.
And just think how faaaabulous North Korea could be!
This is an oldie, but I will share it again. Gather round, inverts. Daddy gawn tell a story.
Back in the primordial olden days… when the internet was only gray or blue, and blinking text was hiiiigh tech like an Etch-a-Sketch… long before I had ever glimpsed the sassy shashay of Miss Sweet Bumps and long before I tattooed her name all crooked on my arm… I decided on the spur of the moment to go on a date with a local Sweet Sugar Smack I encountered online. What the hell, right? Yes. *Hell*. Hellish!
Was the blind date my type? Weeeelllll…. Like my friend Austin once said: "Does the Pope shit in the woods?!??" Still, there was no doubt I was going to be polite. Only I dint yet know I would be Driving Miss Crazy. I shoulda just hit a fricken drivethru and ended this rendezvous with a taco and a packet of hot sauce. But no.
Yeah. Turns out this girl was some fruity pebbles figment of some infernal imaginary everlasting fireball! Shhhhhoooooooooot! This one was wired in such a corn flaky fashion, she accidentally proved there was no god. Cracked wheat, and not even stacked sweet. You know what I am sayin.
Mmmmhmmm. HoneyBunchesofOats was a bit of an enthusiast. She tried to go all koo-koo on my cocoa puffs and molester my stone, but I proceeded to circumlocute to the right when she was circumnavigating to the left. I was all: “NO! You cannot possess me. You cannot lick my chakra. You cannot turn my cap around forward!” When I finally got the succubus out of my home a few hours later, I hid in the hallway as flat and taut against the wall as a fat Boootch can. Meanwhile every soundtrack from every scary movie ever made was playing in the background, and she was outside banging on my bathroom window, hollerin and carryin on about how she loved me! Hey, when you do me like that, my politeness slowly begins to wane, ebb and fade. In fact, when you screech like a cockeyed rice crispy freak and try to bust out my dayum windows… well, my southern hospitality pops right the hell off!
Yeh. I had to call the cops and the long arm of Johnny Law got her in a headlock. My neighbors were all standing outside in their robes with their children and their dogs and their picnic baskets and their cameras. Their accusing hetero-normative glances said, "This is what happens when the boodaggers start moving in." Pretty craptacular evening all around.
Anyways, the point of the story is… when it comes to trix, be wary of granola lesbians. Hell, I can’t recommend dating any kind of cereal! Period. Especially that off brand shredded wheat. Pay the extra fiddy cents, Good Time Charlie. You know that cheap store brand shit don’t taste right!
So… just remember ya'll — ix-nay on the chex mix-nay.
Cheerio! ~
Daddy Rhon
Disclaimer: I have nothing against granola. I like it with milk or plain.
In India, you might squat down on a wooden storage crate in the street to have dental work done.
Online dykes create a list of the top 100 hottest babes. Do you agree or disagree?
Unforgettable photos, some of the most striking and disturbing photographs ever taken.
In all things sensual
there are woman who are extravagant.
I cheer for a woman who rebelled,
an ample and buttery and fertile and ripe
woman who luxuriates in her own rich velvet.
She is a fat cat in the sun.
I prefer the precious plump dimpled knees
of a baby girl just big enough to be cupped in my hands
— heart full, mouth delicious, belly wanting.
I prefer that grand diva with cheeks plump and proud,
parting her lush opera curtains.
She is a luxury liner cutting ancient seas.
The woman I love does not
politely nibble life like a salad.
She is desire unbound and voracious
and she knows this.
I love a woman who is fat
because she allowed herself to be free.
I had a Catholic girlfriend who hung a pair of wooden rosary beads above her bed. Surely she will get into heaven because those dang beads were the size of basketballs! No shit. I had a hard time fetishizing that. Wouldn’t it be crazy if that contraption had fallen while we were getting busy, killing us instantly? Would we automatically go to hell?
I went to see the oldest mission in California recently with the Cutest Boi Who Ever Lived, and learned that my friend is afraid of religious iconography. These photos of out-of-context crucifixes are sure to give him the willies. Love ya, little buddy! If these don’t cure your hiccups, call me later and I will share the campfire stories that got me kicked out of girl scout camp.
 |
|
Nemo finding Jesus . |
 |
|
(Do not panic. This is not the Son of God. It is only a catfish skull.) |
 |
| Photo credit “Rawhide” by Laura Kicey |