inn ovates or master bates
Human. He either. Inn. Ovates. Or. Master Bates. Master Bates is at the door, sire. May I have another handshake before we depart each other’s distinguished company? I do so love the way you give handshakes. Faster. Yes. Harder. Faster. Harder and Faster and Harder and Faster and Slower and Faster and Slower and Faster and Harder Harder Harder Harder Harder…
SLEEPGOAT: Ladies and gents, we appear to be experiencing a broblem. That’s a blog + problem, hence “broblem”, I thingk.
Any way, I have to jump in here, this David Krug.
Vaspers must say goodnight. I’ve emailed him and warned him about this.
I want everyone in the entire blogosphere to know that this is a post like no one in their right mynd wd post. Since we hardened seasoned flame-retardant asbestos clad blogocombat triumphalists can aver and not avert, dim as last Neptune’s:
Vaspers has had a nervous breakdown. Fell apart. Acted like a lunatic at a bookstore. Bitch slapped an employee. Felt disgustingly refreshed and
“super alive. ALIVE. thank my lucky star sI’M ALIVE,...Vaspers sang, as they dragged him off to Rubberview Insanity Garden (what used to be politically incorrectly refered to as a “lunatic or LUNATIC asylum”).
“You understand that [names deleteed, substitute: “your detractors”], and all the customers and employees that were in the store, they will now have a powerful weapon against you? Right?” asked the CEO whose manager fired me without the CEO knowing anything at all about it, for he does not micromanage.
We were talking on the phone, and getting ready to pray.
I put my bong down on top of my Bible. “Huh?” I demanded with very enlarged gonadoidal proclivities dangling loathsomely between my groins or thighs or whatever the fuch they are.
The CEO of the company that had fired me, two weeks ago, without said CEO knowing about it, continued his caboosey train of thot: “Lunatic, that one. He acted like a raving lunatic.”
Just because I blogged about my boss’s ___ getting liposuction?
“Juh?” I explained.
“What?”
“Juuuuhhhhh?” I persisted.
“What do you mean, juuuuuuuhhhhhhhh?” he requested of me.
“Juuuuuuuhhh! I made you say juuuuuuuhhhhh, and you don’t even know what it means. So what was so wrung with me saying words like c_ sucking mother_ _ in your Christian bookstore? I was not lunatic. I was authentic.”
Dopn’t ever doop that again,” CyberGal cautioned me pleasantly, but not without some firm quality to the warning, bordering on a scolding, not commanding, but spookily.
“Why?” I asked her two days later. Not much happened between her statement and my subsequent, but delayed, return query.
“You blow up, go berserk again, in any store you work at next, and they’ll force you into therapy.”
“For how long?” I summoned.
“Six weeks probably, maybe eight,” she answered.
“Piece of cake. I already went through 12 months of it in the Adams Street Living Center, followed by a stint in the basement of the Julian Hotel. (Mental patient slums of Peoria, Illinois).
Get your shit together. If you can’t have good writers, just shut the damn site off.
Josue Salazar said this on February 22, 2006 4:11 am
How much do you charge for your writing services, Salazar?
Vaspers said this on February 22, 2006 1:09 pm
I’m not saying i’m better than any of the writers here.
But JOAB is falling apart. There was a time where it was funny, now it’s just pathetic.
Josue Salazar said this on February 22, 2006 1:53 pm
I understand your jealousy, and I feel your pain, I really do. Trust me on that one. My, what a lovely toilet you have there. You want me to taste it, don’t you? teh
NOW go tip toe off and suck Harry Potter’s cockammammie while you play with yu gi oh cards. GRand theft autoholic
!!
Vaspers said this on February 25, 2006 11:52 pm