Thursday, April 28, 2005
Little Bertha is All Grown Up
Hey there my pretty, why’d you cut your hair so short
Rugby’s not for ladies, that is quite a manly sport
Driving truck is now what you chose to do, to earn yourself a living
When it comes to Connie-lingus, you’re first in line for giving
You’ve lost your zest for men, they’re no longer your cup a tea
Not interested in the unit, from hence the boys doth pee
You’re not waiting for Prince Charming, that’s simply over-rated
But you wouldn’t pass on Melissa Etheridge naked, and mildly lubricated
I think I get the picture, and what’s become your preference
No way are you leaping to see, what else is on the other side of the fence
You’ve thrown out your old dresses, and donated all those skirts
And now strap-on is the way you take it, at least until it hurts
You want to know, if you can have my Harley, it was your favorite bike
It’s all you need to complete your transformation, into a raging dyke
That tattoo of an anchor, should have been the telling sign
My baby is now a lesbian and is now longer mine
I can’t believe this happened, my daughter is completely gay
I’m blinded by her shinny spiked hair, as she starts walking away
To ride off into the sunset, unsure of where she’ll go
My little Bertha, tough as nails and strong as bull, the all-American, lezbo
3rd Nipple
What's this? A lump, oh where did you come from?
This is quite an interesting development, I thought you were a crumb
I went inside my shirt, to brush that crumb away
But this knobby protrusion wasn't moving, almost destined here to stay
I tried stratching the crumb, but it wouldn't move an inch
Extreme pain is all I felt, when I gave it a little pinch
Now I'm really worried, zits don't put up that good a fight
Maybe it won't bother me, if I keep it out of sight
But it's hard to ignore, this new bump in the middle of my pecs
The ladies can't stop staring at it, while we're having sex
Whenever I go running, it starts burning at the tip
And the cold frigged air, always makes that sucker nip
I'm starting to come to grips, with this new growth on my chest
I guess I'm just a product of, some family incest
Things could be worse, I could've been born a cripple
So I will be thankful, for my new, mysterious third nipple!
Monday, April 18, 2005
Waiting for you
Oh it's a sweet torture, she seems to put me through
I told her I would be here, around a quarter to
By now you'd think there'd be no shock, no element of surprise
To find her in the bathroom, applying makeup to her eyes
She's still a little wet, from the shower she just took
So I guess I'll take a seat and flip right through her newest book
"100 things a lady should know, about what makes the perfect date"
I don't care much for that stuff, but I know reservations were for eight
It's like she's testing me, on what it takes to lose my cool
Well I'm not going to play her game and start acting like a fool
My screaming and my yelling, wouldn't get us anywhere
Especially, when she couldn't hear me, over the blow-drying of her hair
I hope it's true, what's been said, so very long ago
That good things come, to those who wait
And if you don't stop moving so lackadazilly slow
I'm going to miss out on the best prime rib, that this boy's ever ate
Oh now what, there's no shoes, to match that pretty dress?
There must be 60 pairs, lying in that heaping mess
High heels or open toe, come on honey honestly
You've seen the way I dress, so why even bother asking me
So back to the bathroom she goes, for what appears to be round two
There's only five minutes left, and I'm running out of things to say and do
And right about that time, I think she's got me all but spent
Out of the bathroom comes an angel, who must be heaven sent
And in an instant she's forgiven, when she starts walking my way
I get up off my seat, and try to think of something nice to say
But before I can speak a word, she beats me to the punch
"Thanks for waiting for me handsome, my big ole honey bunch"
And now I know it's true, what's been said so very long ago
That good things, do come, to those who wait
And if you don't mind missing the previews, to a simple picture show
You'll have that angel beside, for every single date
Friday, April 15, 2005
My Kentucky Queen
My lady has both her two front teeth
And never gives me too much grief
She always let's me hang out with the guys
Her sights a bit crooked, never quite sure where it lies
One leg is shorter than the other
Many confuse her, for her older brother
Whether it's the mustache or the muscles, I'm not sure
Her arms are full of long, not so beautiful, flowing fur
She drinks like there's a shortage of whisky and rum
I wouldn't say she's stupid, but she's bordering on dumb
She's a lazy couch potato, right down to the core
Eats so many pork rinds, may as well slaughter her a boar
I know some people look at me, like I am crazy
Wondering what it is, in her I see
I know my baby ain't perfect, not to any degree
But I'm telling ya, she's close enough for me
Her laugh sounds like a frog, choking on a chicken bone
Whenever she farts, she pumps her fist and let's out a groan
"That was a good one", she proclaims for all to hear
She always gets that way, after chuggin her eight beer
She's silly and she's quirky, and lacks a gentle touch
The way she chews her toe nails, doesn't bother me too much
She isn't very proper, no where near sophisticated
Lays host to many organisms and is heavily medicated
She's as bow-legged as a wishbone
Her hair is always mangled, as though it were wind blown
She's not a real sweet talker, she just mumbles all her thoughts
Her favorite porn is volume II, or space-sex with astronauts
She's quite a kinky number, she's always in the mood
Cotton candy-peanut butter sandwiches, is her favorite food
I don't know why I'm with her, or why we're still together
But the way she makes me feel, nobody could ever.....
Keep us apart, she'll be mine for eternity
Don't get all up-addy, and look at me crazy
I know she ain't perfect, not to any degree
But she's my baby, and she's close enough for me
Taco Bell
I shed a tear, as my belly begins to swell
From all the food, I know, my tummy's gunna expel
I'm not very sure how, all this flavor supposed to gel
But you can't go wrong, getting down with Taco Bell
Some say their food, is quite suspect
But in my veins, they can inject
The sauce that makes the Gordita so cheesy
Just strap on the syringe, it would be that easy
Mexican pizza, is quite an invention
To eat six servings, was not my intention
It wasn't my fault, you know darn well
There's something addicting, about Taco Bell
There's no eleven herbs and not too many spices
The ten-pack taco to go, is one of my vices
I'll eat it for breakfast, or a late afternoon snack
There's something in the meat that makes me come back
The cheese is not government, but I wouldn't say it's real
But with Taco Bell's prices, it's more than a deal
So if your hunger is huge and will take a big order
Just head on down and make a run for the border
Hey now, I love Taco Bell
Just lay off the beans son, I don't want to smell
So gather around, let's get a big groupa
And try one of them things there, they call a Chalupa
Fresh red tomaters and crisp ice-berg lettuce
I'd eat Taco Bell all the time, if mamma would let us
Thank the good Lord, you're open late at night
So I don't have to go to bed hungry, neglecting this appetite
With a soft taco in one hand, and a burrito in the other
There's no chance I'm sharing this, with my little brother
What has he done, to deserve such a prize?
Did you know their nachos come, in almost every shape and size?
Everybody's got a wrap now, but the Bell's been doing it for many a year
They've got chicken and steak, and someday maybe deer?
I wouldn't hold my breath, but could you image anything better
Than a venison quesadilla, wrapped in warm, gooey cheddar
How many combos, can there possibly be?
Just using meat n' cheese and a couple of veggies
The answer to this equation is yet to be determined
Add in some rice and sour cream, and now you got me yearnin
For something in a shell or in a warm, soft tortilla
Cause by itself, it might remind ya, of some sloppy Diarrhea
My mamma told me, looks aren't everything
Just close your eyes and take one bite and you will surely sing........
Hey now, I love Taco Bell
Just lay off the beans son, I don't want to smell
So gather around, let's get a big groupa
And try one of them things there, they call a Chalupa
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Vick Has Herpes?
Now that most of the nation knows that one of its most prestigious football players on the planet is carrying an STD, that being Michael Vick apparently, I figured I would post a poem about that very subject.
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack's fed up with his good friend Rick
He's stole Jack's girl, and now Jack's pissed
In front of Jack, the two just kissed
Jack be thinking, Jack be devising a plan
To ruin Rick, whichever way Jack can
Egg his house or shave his dog
Or crash Rick's car during a midnight fog
That would be nice, but not enough
Jack's mad as hell and feels quite snuffed
Jack's blood is boiled, Jack's in a rage
Rick's probably seen his woman's, hairy fish cage
Now Jack be tired, Jack be sick
Of planning revenge on dumbass Rick
Jack's in a funk and can't get out
Jack's feeling sad and just bumping all about
But Jack get happy, how soon Jack forget
All's not good about his ex-girl, Margaret
She was dirty and had the Herpes
And revenge will be Jack's, whenever Rick pees
*the author is not sure as to whether or not burning during urination is a side effect of Herpes or not, but Herpes rhymes with pees, so that's the STD he went with for comedic purposes. The author does not condone the passing of STD's on to others, but is immature and still chuckles at words like Herpes, or the Clap*
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Greatest Comeback Ever
It was a usual Wednesday night for this sultry suburbanite, and nothing special was in the air. I was watching yet another episode of Sex and the City on TBS (with my total lack of knowledge on how the other sex opperates or thinks, I feel I will gain a better understanding of the female species by watching this show, but I'm beginning to think it's just a show about sluts) when my brother Adam and brother-in-law Todd convinced me that a night of bowling would be fun since it was college night and games were only 50 cents with purchase of $3 braclet. I don't bowl much, but for some reason I had found myself bowling the Saturday before with the same culprits and the bowling gods were not with me. My sister Amy had joined us on that Saturday and Adam and Todd had proved that they were masters of the alley, pummeling the competition by nearly 40 pins. I was sweating each game out to make sure I wouldn't finish last of the bunch, and more importantly, to ensure I wouldn't suffer defeat at the hands of my sister (and the semi-retarded looking fellow on the lane to the right of us). She beat me the first game, but I rallied the troops for a victory in the final two contests, sporting a hefty 130 average. Sadley though, the retarded fellow got the best of me that night, and his scores will not be posted in order to maintain the image(whatever that may be) of the author.
So back to Wednesday. Todd and Adam had gone to the alley that night with hopes that one of them would break the amateur barrier known as the 200 mark. This dividing line is what seperates the bowlers who come for a good time, and those who are not professional, but if they stopped whatever they were doing in life and committed themselves to bowling, might be able to parley their skills into a career. Both Adam and Todd have broken this barrier in years past, but wanted to see if the feat was still obtainable. Yours truely has never even sniffed the line, or could see it with a set of binoculars. As the evening unfolded, Todd and Adam were bowling in the 150-180 range and myself, pulling out games of 133, 118, 111, 108, and 110. Fives games had past and no one was near the allusive goal. Due to ackwardly shaped hands, I was glad that I finally had a ball I was comfortable with that night, but due to an inconsistent ball return, I was forced to use a backup ball that I was very uncomfortable with in key spare situations. At least that was the excuse I was sporting that evening, but we all knew it was because I was a shitty bowler.
It was do or die time for the bowling duo, and I was just trying to stay a float above the 100 mark to keep whatever confidence I had from crashing to the bottom like the beer in the pitchers Todd and Adam were slamming throughout the night. ($5 pitchers) I had chosen not to drink that night because it was a Wednesday and I don't like drinking alchohol on weekdays, (it keeps my tolerance low for when I do drink on weekends), and I don't want to get hooked on the sauce. Adam knew it was time to get to business and asked if I would sit out for the rest of the night so the "real bowlers" could get into a rhythm. I told him there was no chance in hell and we proceeded on to game number 6.
This is when the night got cooking. We pretty much had the place to ourselves and there was no more of those ackward situations where you, and the bowler next to you, walk up to the lane at the same time, politely telling each other to go first. And there was no more "eye candy" in the joint to gawk at to deter my attention, not that there was much to begin with, for the pickings were slim that evening. Plus Adam was supplying quality entertainment, for the 2 or so pitchers of beer had finally started to kick in and his approach to the line was starting to get a bit wobbly, and not to mention, his speech.
I had not started a stinkin game to this point with a freakin mark and I was just pleading to myself for round 6 to be different. And sure enough, it did, with a strike! And there were many to follow, for the next 3 games would be the greatest of my life. I bowled a 609 series in the final three games with a 206, 196, and a 207 respectively. Adam and Todd were in awe for they had spent half the night trying to give me pointers on how not to suck, and here I was mopping the alley with these two (not using any of the pointers they suggested of course). Some say it was the greatest turn around in bowling history, and quite possibly, one of the brightest moments I may ever know. It wasn't televised on the ESPN, but thanks to blogspot, you now have a little insight on one of sports all-time greatest moments.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Extremely Fat People
Here's a poem about an extremely obese man and the thoughts that roll through his extremely fat head.
It's too late, to turn back now
I'm just a 1,000 pound, revolting sow
I remember the days, when I was a slick 500 pounds
And my stomach consisted of, only six gooey mounds
I can make a thong disappear, just by putting it on
The line where my ass stops, and legs start, is practically gone
My ass is a backyard with a ten acre lawn
Moving up a flight of stairs, takes about from dusk till dawn
But this all doesn't concern me, living life this way
I eat anything I want, in my six meals a day
I don't believe in counting calories, that's for people who are thin
But I do believe in counting, the rolls under my chin
I did five pushups yesterday, I was pretty proud of myself
They were orange flavored shebert, and I found them on the freezer shelf
Tucked behind the eggos, man I forget that they were there
I'd a offered you one, but when it comes to food, I rarely share
Cause I'm a fat sack of fat, from my head down to my toes
I use curtains to dress myself, since I've given up on wearing clothes
They don't appear to fit me, so I don't need them anyway
And if it wasn't for liquid soap, I'd never make it through a doorway
I'm not fit to work, so the government issues me the stamps
And since I have no muscles, I never worry about cramps
I have severe scoliosis, cause my back can't hold the weight
Once it's straightened out, I'm sure I'll bag a date
Cause the ladies don't like guys, with their hairy humpy backs
They never score the tail, I'm just giving you the facts
I've recently lost my package, I can't find it anywhere
I know size doesn't matter, but you've got to have something down in there
Sometimes I sit and wonder, how I got to be
As big as my bed, and so terribly pastey
And then I think to myself and I get a bit depressed
I haven't seen the light of day, since Reagon was in office
Holy shit, I haven't left the house in nearly twenty years
I miss going out to eat so much, it brings me to tears
I can almost smell Sizzler, and my favorite steakhouse, Ponderosa
All you can eat buffets, my friend, now that's how you're supposed ta
Eat, eat, eat, until you look like me
A sparkling image of Fat Bastard times three
I once described a woman, of being quite saucy
But it was because she had spaghetti and her face, and boy I got horny
Food turns me on like no woman could
Put me in a room with Italian food, and I guarantee I'm springing wood
And that's a shame, cause you can't make love to a bowl of linguinie
That's at least not until I find my two meatballs, and that missing weinie
www.surfcitymeetswb.blogspot.com
