fucking bored

[Senior Weaner]

let's use this thread for silly stories ok dudes and dykes

[Spoon]

let's use this thread for silly stories ok dudes and dykes


Don't worry



















Be happy

[Senior Weaner]

Don't worry



















Be happy


that's not my schtick you asshole

[Spoon]

that's not my schtick you asshole

Just making sure you're not worrying. that is all.

[RolandC]

You figure out how to get a shower arranged for yourself for friday yet?

[Uncle Tupelo]

let's use this thread for silly stories ok dudes and dykes

I was at the Schnucks Deli counter today at lunch to pick up some turkey and this apparently normal looking lady in front of me was scary off. She would kind of ramble on and say she'd want turkey or ham and then point to the pastrami. She would then point inbetween two items and say she wanted that stuff then she would look down and read the tag and move on to something else. I was looking that the lady helping her and you could tell she had this look on her face like "what the fuck is going on here." It was actually kind of sad. It was like her brain just wasn't processing and she couldn't figure out what she wanted.

[Senior Weaner]

You figure out how to get a shower arranged for yourself for friday yet?

i'm not sure how to answer this yet but let me get back to you

let's play mad libs
ok go:


___(board poster name)__ is a total bull dyke. i bet she likes to ___(verb)____ all the time at ___(pro noun)_____. you can only listen to the indigo girls and __(pro noun) so much before you want to choke somebody

[Cheezy E]

i'm not sure how to answer this yet but let me get back to you

let's play mad libs
ok go:


___(board poster name)__ is a total bull dyke. i bet she likes to ___(verb)____ all the time at ___(pro noun)_____. you can only listen to the indigo girls and __(pro noun) so much before you want to choke somebody

That's not how you do madlibs, dumbass. First you ask for the words, then you give them the story. Duh.

[Spoon]

Ha!

[Cheezy E]

___Fatkid__ is a total bull dyke. i bet she likes to ___Eat shitnuggets____ all the time at ___prom of the high school where he works_____. you can only listen to the indigo girls and __finger a kitten's ass___ so much before you want to choke somebody

[Senior Weaner]

I was at the Schnucks Deli counter today at lunch to pick up some turkey and this apparently normal looking lady in front of me was scary off. She would kind of ramble on and say she'd want turkey or ham and then point to the pastrami. She would then point inbetween two items and say she wanted that stuff then she would look down and read the tag and move on to something else. I was looking that the lady helping her and you could tell she had this look on her face like "what the fuck is going on here." It was actually kind of sad. It was like her brain just wasn't processing and she couldn't figure out what she wanted.

you're an asshole

picking out the correct lunch meat can be a tricky job sometimes and require mental astute dexterity

i mean, could you tell the difference between thinly sliced regular old ham and thinly sliced italian ham?

didn't think so

[Flappy McB]

That's not how you do madlibs, dumbass. First you ask for the words, then you give them the story. Duh.

Johnny Utah, Chicken Wings, Nicorette, Dance(ing), Her, Pubes, Smell(ing)

[Senior Weaner]

That's not how you do madlibs, dumbass. First you ask for the words, then you give them the story. Duh.

uh oh
that's 2 strikes against me today

[RolandC]

The other day while lying in baed I was trying to figure out if I missed the days of mindless drunken stupidity.

I took that time to recall a party where myself and five others grabbed a chilled bottle of Jagermeister and took pulls off of it and passed it around until completition. We stood on a deck and finished that bottle, all quite proud of our accomplishment. Not willing to let the magic fade, we grabbed a luke warm bottle of Absolut Citron and proceeded to do the same to it. I believe we finished 3/4ths of that bottle before several members of the circle took the time to projectile vomit primarly black-colored spew off the deck railing and onto the grass below.

If memory serves somone crapped their pants that night, but I think he just drank beer from a keg.

Before I came up with an answer to my internal query, I masturbated and went to sleep.

[Cheezy E]

This is how you do it. Please provide the following:

poster's name
another poster's name
body part
verb
noun
adjective
noun
verb
noun
adjective
noun

[Spoon]

This is how you do it. Please provide the following:

poster's name; Beercats
another poster's name; Cards_252
body part: pinky toe
verb: shot
noun: Busch Stadium
adjective: poopy
noun: Natural Light
verb; spunked
noun: Tim Mckernan
adjective: Sweaty
noun: Chicago



And go

[Senior Weaner]

This is how you do it. Please provide the following:

poster's name - llg
another poster's name - jonny utah
body part - vaggie
verb - cunted (?)
noun - llama
adjective - cunt faced
noun - pope john paul
verb - pope john paul
noun - junk yard
adjective -boot lipped
noun -mustache

ok here goes

[Cheezy E]

And go

Last Friday, Beercats sent a text to Cards_252 telling him to get his pinky toe up out of Festus, and shoot down to Busch Stadium for a poopy Natural Light. At the sound of this, Cards_252 spunked his pants, gently stroked Tim Mckernan's sweaty penis, and hopped in his Trans Am. He took a wrong turn and ended up in Chicago.

[RolandC]

This is how you do it. Please provide the following:
poster's name
another poster's name
body part
verb
noun
adjective
noun
verb
noun
adjective
noun

Cards_252
Senior Weaner
Spinal Cord
Dance
Shotgun
Charismatic
Knife
Sing
Tourniquet
Slimy
Headache

[Spoon]

Last Friday, Beercats sent a text to Cards_252 telling him to get his pinky toe up out of Festus, and shoot down to Busch Stadium for a poopy Natural Light. At the sound of this, Cards_252 spunked his pants, gently stroked Tim Mckernan's sweaty penis, and hopped in his Trans Am. He took a wrong turn and ended up in Chicago.


Hells yeah

[Cheezy E]

ok here goes

Last weekend, LLG was on the messageboard drunk, when Johnny Utah pms her, asking for pics of her vaggie. She's like "um, no, last time I did that you cunted all over my kitchen rug." So instead, she photoshops a picture of a llama on the most cunt-faced GND photo she could find, and emailed it to him. She mis-typed and sent it to Pope John Paul instead, who Pope John Paul'd his trousers when he saw that cunt-faced llama monster. He told one of his peons to take him to the junk yard, where he masturbated silently to the photo. On his way home this French dude cut him off and he's all "you boot-lipped mutherfucker, get your greasy mustached ass out of my way!"

[Senior Weaner]

Last weekend, LLG was on the messageboard drunk, when Johnny Utah pms her, asking for pics of her vaggie. She's like "um, no, last time I did that you cunted all over my kitchen rug." So instead, she photoshops a picture of a llama on the most cunt-faced GND photo she could find, and emailed it to him. She mis-typed and sent it to Pope John Paul instead, who Pope John Paul'd his trousers when he saw that cunt-faced llama monster. He told one of his peons to take him to the junk yard, where he masturbated silently to the photo. On his way home this French dude cut him off and he's all "you boot-lipped mutherfucker, get your greasy mustached ass out of my way!"

this was a great birfday present
thanks!

[Cheezy E]

Flatlander
Tekken
rectum
shook
onion
blue
slam
golf club
shiny
pitching rubber

Flatlander is working hard, sanding a new decorative bench for his wife in his garage, when he hears a loud knock on the door. He answers the door and sees a tiny leprechaun. Upon further review, he discovers it's Tekken, and bitch is drunk. He's got Jamieson leaking out of his rectum and he's drooling day-old semen. Flatlander took him in, shook the nut out of his mouth, and fed him liver and onion, because he once saw a show about how poor Irish people used to eat that shit to sober up. An hour later, Tekken comes to and sees the decorative bench. He goes "iggy weegy ma ma!" and lunges at it, spilling blue paint all over the bench. Flatlander is like "dude, I'm supposed to paint that shit seafoam green!" and slams Tekkens face into it, leaving blue paint all over his dome. Tekken, still in a drunk daze, grabs the first shiny object he sees. Unfortunately, it's one of Flatlander's decorative WWII submarine plates from the Time Life collection. He breaks that shit, and Flat goes crazy. He should have gone for the golf club that was propping up Flatlander's wife's giant mountain of toilet paper that she bought for $7.99, but Tek was too out of it. Tekken's been living in Flatlander's workshop, pitching rubber ever since.

[Flappy McB]

Unfortunately, it's one of Flatlander's decorative WWII submarine plates from the Time Life collection. You are on fire today. I love this line, because I can see him having one.

[Cheezy E]

Cards_252
Senior Weaner
Spinal Cord
Dance
Shotgun
Charismatic
Knife
Sing
Tourniquet
Slimy
Headache

A poem entitled "an ode to Cards_252" sat on a folding table, unfinished.
Senior Weaner sat on his basement couch in the dark, masturbating to the American Girl catalog and laughing uproariously. Mom told him masturbation would eventually lead to the degeneration of his spinal cord, but what did she know? She was a whore and he was tired of looking at her sagging tits through that faded Scooby Doo t-shirt she always wore around the house. Soon enough he would get his own place and start his rock band, Dance Party Chopstick. One he finished masturbating and carefully wiped the ejaculate from the pissed-stained couch, he picked up his shotgun and began tenderly cleaning it with an old t-shirt. Muttering to himself "Cards_252 is so charismatic, someday I will meet him and he will be my friend and we will date GNDs." This was the mantra he recited to himself over and over again, every night. He moved on from his shotgun to his hunting knife, carefully cleaning the dog excrement off of it. Once he had recited his mantra, he began to sing his band's theme song:

Dance party chopstick, yeah yeah yeah
We'll make you scream, we'll make you dance
Chopping all around, you know it's true
This dance party is comin' through.

He became animated in his singing and dancing about, waving the feces covered knife, until he felt a sharp pain in his back. "holy shit." he thought "my spine. Mom was right." He knew he had to get himself upstairs, and attempted a crude tourniquet for his back, but it was no use. His spinal cord was severed, and a slimy mess of cord fluid was oozing out of his anus. He felt a massive headache overtake him, and he slid into unconsciousness, visions of scooby-doo clad titties dancing in his mind.

[Bmac]

visions of scooby-doo clad titties dancing in his mind.

This is one of my favorite pastimes

[RolandC]

A poem entitled "an ode to Cards_252" sat on a folding table, unfinished.
Senior Weaner sat on his basement couch in the dark, masturbating to the American Girl catalog and laughing uproariously. Mom told him masturbation would eventually lead to the degeneration of his spinal cord, but what did she know? She was a whore and he was tired of looking at her sagging tits through that faded Scooby Doo t-shirt she always wore around the house. Soon enough he would get his own place and start his rock band, Dance Party Chopstick. One he finished masturbating and carefully wiped the ejaculate from the pissed-stained couch, he picked up his shotgun and began tenderly cleaning it with an old t-shirt. Muttering to himself "Cards_252 is so charismatic, someday I will meet him and he will be my friend and we will date GNDs." This was the mantra he recited to himself over and over again, every night. He moved on from his shotgun to his hunting knife, carefully cleaning the dog excrement off of it. Once he had recited his mantra, he began to sing his band's theme song:

Dance party chopstick, yeah yeah yeah
We'll make you scream, we'll make you dance
Chopping all around, you know it's true
This dance party is comin' through.

He became animated in his singing and dancing about, waving the feces covered knife, until he felt a sharp pain in his back. "holy shit." he thought "my spine. Mom was right." He knew he had to get himself upstairs, and attempted a crude tourniquet for his back, but it was no use. His spinal cord was severed, and a slimy mess of cord fluid was oozing out of his anus. He felt a massive headache overtake him, and he slid into unconsciousness, visions of scooby-doo clad titties dancing in his mind.

This might be too long for my sig, but I am going to make an effort.

[Senior Weaner]

A poem entitled "an ode to Cards_252" sat on a folding table, unfinished.
Senior Weaner sat on his basement couch in the dark, masturbating to the American Girl catalog and laughing uproariously. Mom told him masturbation would eventually lead to the degeneration of his spinal cord, but what did she know? She was a whore and he was tired of looking at her sagging tits through that faded Scooby Doo t-shirt she always wore around the house. Soon enough he would get his own place and start his rock band, Dance Party Chopstick. One he finished masturbating and carefully wiped the ejaculate from the pissed-stained couch, he picked up his shotgun and began tenderly cleaning it with an old t-shirt. Muttering to himself "Cards_252 is so charismatic, someday I will meet him and he will be my friend and we will date GNDs." This was the mantra he recited to himself over and over again, every night. He moved on from his shotgun to his hunting knife, carefully cleaning the dog excrement off of it. Once he had recited his mantra, he began to sing his band's theme song:

Dance party chopstick, yeah yeah yeah
We'll make you scream, we'll make you dance
Chopping all around, you know it's true
This dance party is comin' through.

He became animated in his singing and dancing about, waving the feces covered knife, until he felt a sharp pain in his back. "holy shit." he thought "my spine. Mom was right." He knew he had to get himself upstairs, and attempted a crude tourniquet for his back, but it was no use. His spinal cord was severed, and a slimy mess of cord fluid was oozing out of his anus. He felt a massive headache overtake him, and he slid into unconsciousness, visions of scooby-doo clad titties dancing in his mind.



i'm impressed

[Hoofbite]

Flatlander is working hard, sanding a new decorative bench for his wife in his garage, when he hears a loud knock on the door. He answers the door and sees a tiny leprechaun. Upon further review, he discovers it's Tekken, and bitch is drunk. He's got Jamieson leaking out of his rectum and he's drooling day-old semen. Flatlander took him in, shook the nut out of his mouth, and fed him liver and onion, because he once saw a show about how poor Irish people used to eat that shit to sober up. An hour later, Tekken comes to and sees the decorative bench. He goes "iggy weegy ma ma!" and lunges at it, spilling blue paint all over the bench. Flatlander is like "dude, I'm supposed to paint that shit seafoam green!" and slams Tekkens face into it, leaving blue paint all over his dome. Tekken, still in a drunk daze, grabs the first shiny object he sees. Unfortunately, it's one of Flatlander's decorative WWII submarine plates from the Time Life collection. He breaks that shit, and Flat goes crazy. He should have gone for the golf club that was propping up Flatlander's wife's giant mountain of toilet paper that she bought for $7.99, but Tek was too out of it. Tekken's been living in Flatlander's workshop, pitching rubber ever since.
My new co-workers are wondering why I'm laughing so hard

[cards_252]

This was a pretty good thread.