Very Important Crap, and My Opinions as a Genius Regarding it.
GatorDawg
Published
07/17/2012
Seeing as I am, without any doubt, the smartest mother-fucker in the
room at the moment, I've got a thing or two to say about the current
state of electrified motor-boats and how the unregulated sale of little,
tiny donkey-tarts upsets the balance of the ratios of available pineapple fruit-pops to those who would eat them.
First, let me address this issue by saying a few words about micro-wave ovens - they're TOO damned small, people! It should be painfully obvious to anyone who has tried to cook a whole turducken in one of these things that the ridiculously minuscule dimensions of the interior "make-it-hot chamber" (*industry jargon) of even the most spaciously generous of these monstrosities wouldn't be enough to boil a zygote's wiener in! Without a doubt, and any way you slice it, this must be having a crippling effect on the sale of little, tiny donkey-tarts! I really fail to see how anyone could effectively argue that point. Unless, of course, they happened to be a tit-jigglin' penis tickler, or some shit.
Secondly, as to the state of electrified motor-boats: No sir, I don't like 'em. And, I believe that's all I really need to say about that.
So, when taking all these points together, it becomes clear that no sub-sparkling nemotode could ever hope to wash his balls against a clear, bright bristle-board... if you know what I mean. (and, I think you do.) This leaves us at the inescapable conclusion that either electrified motor-boats, coupled with little, tiny donkey-tarts, are either a good thing, or a bad thing, or they are, or they ain't. It's GOT to be one of those options. And, I'd love to hear any one of you purple-painted pipe-chokers disagree with that obvious fallacy!
Now, in closing, you may be wondering what the above observations have to do with the balance of the ratios of available pineaple fuit-pops to those who would eat them. Well, allow me to fill you in: NOT A FUCKING, HAIRY-ASSED, COCK-TICKLING THING! And, I dare any one of you jizz-slurping penis-toads to put forth an argument which proves me wrong on that. Just try to come at me with your contrary opinions, fuckers! I've got epidemiological citations up the poop-stank that I'll shove right past your pastie-laden burger-lips and right down your cremaster-cycle-lovin' vagina-throats!
Well, that's it for this blog post. I hope you've learned something. I'll see you next time. Love you! Bye-bye! XOXOXO
First, let me address this issue by saying a few words about micro-wave ovens - they're TOO damned small, people! It should be painfully obvious to anyone who has tried to cook a whole turducken in one of these things that the ridiculously minuscule dimensions of the interior "make-it-hot chamber" (*industry jargon) of even the most spaciously generous of these monstrosities wouldn't be enough to boil a zygote's wiener in! Without a doubt, and any way you slice it, this must be having a crippling effect on the sale of little, tiny donkey-tarts! I really fail to see how anyone could effectively argue that point. Unless, of course, they happened to be a tit-jigglin' penis tickler, or some shit.
Secondly, as to the state of electrified motor-boats: No sir, I don't like 'em. And, I believe that's all I really need to say about that.
So, when taking all these points together, it becomes clear that no sub-sparkling nemotode could ever hope to wash his balls against a clear, bright bristle-board... if you know what I mean. (and, I think you do.) This leaves us at the inescapable conclusion that either electrified motor-boats, coupled with little, tiny donkey-tarts, are either a good thing, or a bad thing, or they are, or they ain't. It's GOT to be one of those options. And, I'd love to hear any one of you purple-painted pipe-chokers disagree with that obvious fallacy!
Now, in closing, you may be wondering what the above observations have to do with the balance of the ratios of available pineaple fuit-pops to those who would eat them. Well, allow me to fill you in: NOT A FUCKING, HAIRY-ASSED, COCK-TICKLING THING! And, I dare any one of you jizz-slurping penis-toads to put forth an argument which proves me wrong on that. Just try to come at me with your contrary opinions, fuckers! I've got epidemiological citations up the poop-stank that I'll shove right past your pastie-laden burger-lips and right down your cremaster-cycle-lovin' vagina-throats!
Well, that's it for this blog post. I hope you've learned something. I'll see you next time. Love you! Bye-bye! XOXOXO
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