Warrior General Games

its a fetish



wat

whatjet

not in the eyes!

O LAWD

o face!

linkin park IMO

CV arrives in 3................2.................1.....................BOOM

Goes the dynamite

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to
look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His
name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really
bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed.
Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new
environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at
high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the
spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive:
they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn
cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my
room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked
like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for
a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real
bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately
there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change
them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so
it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in
my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor
wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the
bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't
allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet
one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the
frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My
friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like
them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in
the genitals.

I like monkeys

I deleted 1,024 text messages from my phone this morning.

This was a minute job that I had been avoiding for quite a while. Not because I am unable to use my hands or because I don’t know how to do it. But every time my phone took 5 million hours to load a photo or refused to take a picture for lack of memory, I knew some deleting was in order.

I know I’m crazy as a coconut, but I just could never do it. Each of those little texts was a pocket of a memory. A reference to a long forgotten in-joke, a reminder of why I married that girl, a reminder of why I have swamp ass, late night mini-conversations with homeless people continued in a sleepy haze and bland reminders about appointments kept.

I’ m one for hanging on. I hoard organizers from my office supply room (there’s something blissful about realizing that on this day in 2009, a brief was due and I went to Argentina…). Hidden in the depths of cardboard boxes, deep in storage is a tiny sparkling bucket of erasers my wife bought me when I was home sick from law school several years back. I constantly refer to the past for tips about the future.

But this is a new year. Some say a new decade. So, I’m resolving that the only object jammed up with memory will be my head. It’s a new day, I have an empty inbox and I feel good.

plz merge with hood thread. thanks

not a HOOD thread.

Originally posted by vladykins
not a HOOD thread. o_O

duh

Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.

The Home for Aged Persons is at Marengo, some fifty miles from Algiers. With the two o’clock bus I should get there well before nightfall. Then I can spend the night there, keeping the usual vigil beside the body, and be back here by tomorrow evening. I have fixed up with my employer for two days’ leave; obviously, under the circumstances, he couldn’t refuse. Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said, without thinking: “Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know.”

Afterwards it struck me I needn’t have said that. I had no reason to excuse myself; it was up to him to express his sympathy and so forth. Probably he will do so the day after tomorrow, when he sees me in black. For the present, it’s almost as if Mother weren’t really dead. The funeral will bring it home to me, put an official seal on it, so to speak....

Originally posted by Larry Roadgrader
Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.

The Home for Aged Persons is at Marengo, some fifty miles from Algiers. With the two o’clock bus I should get there well before nightfall. Then I can spend the night there, keeping the usual vigil beside the body, and be back here by tomorrow evening. I have fixed up with my employer for two days’ leave; obviously, under the circumstances, he couldn’t refuse. Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said, without thinking: “Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know.”

Afterwards it struck me I needn’t have said that. I had no reason to excuse myself; it was up to him to express his sympathy and so forth. Probably he will do so the day after tomorrow, when he sees me in black. For the present, it’s almost as if Mother weren’t really dead. The funeral will bring it home to me, put an official seal on it, so to speak....

Do you have any pics of her in a machine mask?

Milwaukee Juggernauts World League Story Board:

Watch The Passion of the Christ.