A temporary return from the desert of my shame. But I'm tempestuous and sulk easily. My Good Lady Wife says it's in my astrology. But she would that - she's catholic.
Eeek!
also
ngghhh!
I've just returned from the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things. I'm having my nads cut to ensure that there will be no more Little Zombies. My Good Lady Wife has selfishly suggested that the world and her uterus have had enough of the passage of the Zombie Seed into Life.
As such, some weeks back, she presented a challenge: a mighty contest whereby the future of my nads would be decided. Should I win this contest, my vas deferens would live another year to release it's bountiful baby gravy upon the world. Should I lose, the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things, would get to saw my tubes in half with his rusty bread knife.
And the contest that would decide such a thing?
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you 'Top Trumps - Star Wars deck'.
That's right.
So we settled down - me eating the brains of the recently deceased, She having a herbal tea - and She dealed. You can see my first mistake.
All things went well initially, with me beating Greedo's height of 1.65m with Admiral Ackbar's 1.8m. On to Bib Fortuna's Dark Side rating of 14, with which I easily beat Mon Mothma's ZERO score. Of course, it didn't take many more rounds like this before I was whooping with glee and making signals towards My Good Lady Wife that quickly provoked the Slap of Impatience and the Sit Down Stare.
Having settled down into less childish dances, I turned my card and sat smug with Yoda in my hand. Now. Look for yourself. There's nothing here that would make you afraid with Yoda, certainly not when its your own turn:
Look at that guy. So many things to choose. So many maximum scores. Jedi Powers is too obvious. Instead I pick Brains. 20. Beat that, you Harradin of Testicular Adventures.
'What row down is that?' Huh? 'What row down is that?' Why it's the second row, you Crazed Suffragette of Tubular Torment. 'In that case I have 2188.'
Eh?
What?
The score is out of 20. I have Yoda. He invented Brains, or something very similar. No-one gets higher than 20.
'I have 2188'.
So what card has a score higher than the maximum of 20? Let me tell you. Valentino Rossi. Remember him in Star Wars? Me neither. That's because Rossi races a Yamaha M1 for Team Gauloises Fortuna. Here he is:
'Second row down, 2188'. My wife has surreptitiously dealt herself the entire MotoGP deck, and is now supplementing her pathetic hand with Grand Prix Motorcyclists.
I protest. She doesn't hear. She continues. True, we never agreed to just the one deck (I assume convention in these instances). True, I got the deck and didn't actually specify which it was we were going to use. And true also she scares me a lot and it will only come back on me during her Grand Prix Menstrual Tension should I protest too much.
I splutter.
I cough.
She calls second row again. And again. And before I know it, both the Empire and the Rebel Alliance have been wiped out by Marco Melandri (took his first 250cc victory in 2001), Carlos Checa (offered an NSR250 in the Sito Pons Honda Team in 1995) and all their evil motoring brethren. Suck on that, George Lucas.
It took around about 1.30 mins for the motorcyclists of the world to determine the fate of my orbs.
So today I've seen the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things. He's told me that sometimes they have to bite through the scrotal sack with the teeth of insane war pensioners. He's told me that if it heals properly, which he doubts, I'll probably be crippled for life and have mind cancer.
He's told me that once, a man had a vasectomy and ended up so mental that he spent the next forty years eating the dirt that collects under the seats of row 76 in the Main Stand at Anfield.
At least that's what his twisted, syphillis-ridden face said, if not his actual mouth, as he laughed like a maniac whilst plucking the fur from the heads of diseased laboratory rabbits.
On the plus side, afterwards I'll get to do the bedtime tango without a latex poncho.
Eeek!
also
ngghhh!
I've just returned from the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things. I'm having my nads cut to ensure that there will be no more Little Zombies. My Good Lady Wife has selfishly suggested that the world and her uterus have had enough of the passage of the Zombie Seed into Life.
As such, some weeks back, she presented a challenge: a mighty contest whereby the future of my nads would be decided. Should I win this contest, my vas deferens would live another year to release it's bountiful baby gravy upon the world. Should I lose, the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things, would get to saw my tubes in half with his rusty bread knife.
And the contest that would decide such a thing?
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you 'Top Trumps - Star Wars deck'.
That's right.
So we settled down - me eating the brains of the recently deceased, She having a herbal tea - and She dealed. You can see my first mistake.
All things went well initially, with me beating Greedo's height of 1.65m with Admiral Ackbar's 1.8m. On to Bib Fortuna's Dark Side rating of 14, with which I easily beat Mon Mothma's ZERO score. Of course, it didn't take many more rounds like this before I was whooping with glee and making signals towards My Good Lady Wife that quickly provoked the Slap of Impatience and the Sit Down Stare.
Having settled down into less childish dances, I turned my card and sat smug with Yoda in my hand. Now. Look for yourself. There's nothing here that would make you afraid with Yoda, certainly not when its your own turn:
Look at that guy. So many things to choose. So many maximum scores. Jedi Powers is too obvious. Instead I pick Brains. 20. Beat that, you Harradin of Testicular Adventures.
'What row down is that?' Huh? 'What row down is that?' Why it's the second row, you Crazed Suffragette of Tubular Torment. 'In that case I have 2188.'
Eh?
What?
The score is out of 20. I have Yoda. He invented Brains, or something very similar. No-one gets higher than 20.
'I have 2188'.
So what card has a score higher than the maximum of 20? Let me tell you. Valentino Rossi. Remember him in Star Wars? Me neither. That's because Rossi races a Yamaha M1 for Team Gauloises Fortuna. Here he is:
'Second row down, 2188'. My wife has surreptitiously dealt herself the entire MotoGP deck, and is now supplementing her pathetic hand with Grand Prix Motorcyclists.
I protest. She doesn't hear. She continues. True, we never agreed to just the one deck (I assume convention in these instances). True, I got the deck and didn't actually specify which it was we were going to use. And true also she scares me a lot and it will only come back on me during her Grand Prix Menstrual Tension should I protest too much.
I splutter.
I cough.
She calls second row again. And again. And before I know it, both the Empire and the Rebel Alliance have been wiped out by Marco Melandri (took his first 250cc victory in 2001), Carlos Checa (offered an NSR250 in the Sito Pons Honda Team in 1995) and all their evil motoring brethren. Suck on that, George Lucas.
It took around about 1.30 mins for the motorcyclists of the world to determine the fate of my orbs.
So today I've seen the Doctor of Evil, He Who Speaks Evil Things. He's told me that sometimes they have to bite through the scrotal sack with the teeth of insane war pensioners. He's told me that if it heals properly, which he doubts, I'll probably be crippled for life and have mind cancer.
He's told me that once, a man had a vasectomy and ended up so mental that he spent the next forty years eating the dirt that collects under the seats of row 76 in the Main Stand at Anfield.
At least that's what his twisted, syphillis-ridden face said, if not his actual mouth, as he laughed like a maniac whilst plucking the fur from the heads of diseased laboratory rabbits.
On the plus side, afterwards I'll get to do the bedtime tango without a latex poncho.
VIEW 25 of 49 COMMENTS
and pessimists get all the girls.
Perhaps this mothers day instead of flowers (since you're obviously rotten about them) you should buy her an assortment of crisps from the petrol station. Add a pack of fags and a string of condoms and you'll be in for a night of fun. Whooo whooo! Every mothers dream gift. I know I'd appreciate almost any gift that came from the corner store. I'm sure Omar (my local variety store worker) could help to find that special something among the rolling papers and flesh mags and assorted foodstuffs.....Do I smell sardines??!!! Oh honey, you shouldn't have!
A pessimist is a person who has had to listen to too many optimists.--Don Marquis
BTW you forgot type E: The cup just isn't flippin large enough!
[Edited on Mar 08, 2005 8:10AM]