05-26-2005, 06:03 AM
"I'm listening to some Kenny Rogers in my headphones, when I look up, and for some reason, there's some muscled-up Peter North-looking mother fucker setting up small logs and chopping them with an ax, then proceeds to tell me how him and his friend scored these super hot broads with big fucking titties, all by calling this fucking hot new singles dateline that's apparently sweeping my local Tri-State area, and I'm missing out on it. And all I have to do is call the number at the bottom of the screen, and in minutes I'll be on the phone, talking to some ultra mega hot babes about all the hot hip action we're going to be causing when the two us us hit the night life scene together, all leading up to a roll in the hay, and then after the haunted hayride, it's back to my place for some drinks and a few friendly games of Uno just before a lil hide the salami, and then after we make sandwiches, it's time for a lil sexual intercourse.
And all I have to do is call the number at the bottom of my screen, and all these wild fantasies, and more, will come true.
I dunno, that dude chopping wood doesn't exactly seem like the type who would have a problem pounding pussy. And even if he is tired of the same old boring singles scene of the local Irish pub or the local dive karoke bar, if this dude was to call this dateline in real life, I'm sure he would be able to scour through all the gutter skanks and toothless white trash pretty quickly and snag up the only few ultra hot babes that are in the similiar predicament as he is.
That would leave talking to some random ass homely girl talking about her pet cats and Oprah, or whatever the fuck boring ass chick talk about. I never know, I usually zone out when my silent boring alarm gets rung by some frightened clerk cowering beneath his desk in my brain, in udder fear of having to process such banal aspects of modern living. Not that I hate cats, or any pets for that matter; I just wish people wouldn't talk about them so much unless the animal is of the proclivity to just randomly chew the lving shit out of someone. Like a bulldog; I can understand why people talk about bulldogs so much; it's because there are so fucking bad ass, and yet can be so loving and playful. They're the type of animal you can spend a day with, and then share a beer with whilst hanging out with your boys. The type of dog that don't shudder and crawl slowly away when you light up that blunt; no, them bulldogs are the type to sit right in the cipher with the whole lot of ye, waiting for someone to blow him or her a shottie. That's what great about them bulldogs, whether they're bitches, or sons of bitches, they're always a homeboy.
But I don't know many chicks who got bull dogs, or pitbulls, or any of them grimey looking dogs that look like they've been through the shit ass end of life, and found their way to some kind and gentle soul willing to take pity on such messes of canines, munching down on the last bits of kibble just before they slowly walk down the street, wagging their tail in a defeated, yet optimistic manner, and stare blankly into the grill of the Nissan Altima that will send his rotten old soul to Heaven.
"Hello? You still there?
.....
.....
.....
*click*."
And all I have to do is call the number at the bottom of my screen, and all these wild fantasies, and more, will come true.
I dunno, that dude chopping wood doesn't exactly seem like the type who would have a problem pounding pussy. And even if he is tired of the same old boring singles scene of the local Irish pub or the local dive karoke bar, if this dude was to call this dateline in real life, I'm sure he would be able to scour through all the gutter skanks and toothless white trash pretty quickly and snag up the only few ultra hot babes that are in the similiar predicament as he is.
That would leave talking to some random ass homely girl talking about her pet cats and Oprah, or whatever the fuck boring ass chick talk about. I never know, I usually zone out when my silent boring alarm gets rung by some frightened clerk cowering beneath his desk in my brain, in udder fear of having to process such banal aspects of modern living. Not that I hate cats, or any pets for that matter; I just wish people wouldn't talk about them so much unless the animal is of the proclivity to just randomly chew the lving shit out of someone. Like a bulldog; I can understand why people talk about bulldogs so much; it's because there are so fucking bad ass, and yet can be so loving and playful. They're the type of animal you can spend a day with, and then share a beer with whilst hanging out with your boys. The type of dog that don't shudder and crawl slowly away when you light up that blunt; no, them bulldogs are the type to sit right in the cipher with the whole lot of ye, waiting for someone to blow him or her a shottie. That's what great about them bulldogs, whether they're bitches, or sons of bitches, they're always a homeboy.
But I don't know many chicks who got bull dogs, or pitbulls, or any of them grimey looking dogs that look like they've been through the shit ass end of life, and found their way to some kind and gentle soul willing to take pity on such messes of canines, munching down on the last bits of kibble just before they slowly walk down the street, wagging their tail in a defeated, yet optimistic manner, and stare blankly into the grill of the Nissan Altima that will send his rotten old soul to Heaven.
"Hello? You still there?
.....
.....
.....
*click*."