When I put down a book, I really put it down and call it an obese drunk destined to die alone in a cage. How you like them apples, book.
Remix ----------- When I put down a book, I find it necessary to place it face down so the cover can't be seen. Either I'm embarrassed by what I read or I have an unhealthy phobia of cover art. But I suppose when you read something titled "Animal Entrails in Love," the answer is probably a combination of the two.
Remix of the remix ---------- But I suppose when you read a book titled "Coming to Terms With Your Wife's Homosexuality," the answer is probably a combination of the two.
Remix of the remix's remix ---------- a book titled "My Colon and Me"....
Remix of the remix's remix's remix ---------- "Goth Chicks of the 19th Century"
Remix of the remix's remix's remix's remix ---------- "Wizard of Oz 2: Flying Monkeys Strike Back"
Change has truly come to America. There are no more red states and blue states. White women can hug random black men. And now hardcore rap and day-time talk shows can hold hands and give Inuit kisses (eskimo kisses are politically incorrect) to each other in public. 50 cent is allowed to be emotional and articulate on the Tyra Banks show, and Snoop can cook mashed potatoes with black pepper and cognac on the Martha Stewart show.
In case you didn't know, the lavatory (for those that don't speak Mensa, that means pee-pee room) on the flight to Vegas features lush amenities like hardwood floors and lemongrass wasabi hand wash. The airline is really trying to cater to the urban professional that likes to breakdance in the bathroom and prefers their Asian cuisine in the form of nosehair-burning liquid soap. The best part about lemongrass wasabi hand wash is that after you eat it, you can use it to clean it off your fingers. Genius.
I heart fat women as much as the next chubby chaser. I hit on women at bars that would disgust the average white guy. So understand that I mean no disrespect when I say that there should be a rule that you can't be a flight attendant if you've got the body of a cop. When I'm beauty sleeping in my aisle seat, I should not be suddenly woken up by Officer Wiggins' jelly donut ass crashing into my shoulder. I'll let it slide the first time, but when it happens thrice, we gotta give the flight attendant a timeout and make her sit down below with the other over-sized luggage. And when her ginormous badonkadonk knocks over my personal TV screen causing it to collide into my shin, I think it's clear that airline uniforms should no longer be produced for those that wear size "too big for elastic waistbands."
Look, I don't mind the wrinkly, has-been flight attendants who were stewardesses in the 60's or the ones who look like failed drag queens on speed or even the gay male ones who are just as sarcastic as Will&Grace's Jack but not in the least bit endearing. But I do have a problem with the flight attendants with asses reminiscent of Al Roker hugging a mirror. That's pre-surgery Al of course. It's just not practical when the width of your booty is wider than the width of the aisle. If you're a flight attendant who feels like Winnie the Pooh stuck in a tree, it's probably time to sign up at Monster and start thinking about a career change.
And like I said, I really have no problem with the bigness in other aspects of my life. (please see my collection of Bubblebutts magazine for proof) I just don't need it ten thousand feet in the air. I already have my seat cushion to use as a flotation device.
J: we did end up going to the place in the Wynn but lots of older folks/cougars up in their club me: cougarlicious!
J: not sure if thats your cup of tea, but YOTG go for it (if they are asian, they are bengal tigers)
me: it's cougar hunting season...my sex panther cologne will definitely lure them to the young-man-flesh
me: so is there a parallel term for older men that prey on younger women or are they just considered normal? J: not that i know of...although theres a spot in dc that older guys hang out at to pick up younger women...called viagra triangle
me: it's said that ships are lost there forever me: maybe the old guy that chases young women is a Viagrasaurus Rex...he may be a dinosaur but he's ravenous and foaming at the mouth
Looking for hot Christian singles? Do you love 36C's and Jesus Christ? Wanna get hot and steamy and go to confession afterwards? Interested in sex without contraception? Browse and connect with the hottest of Jesus' flock at www.missionaryposition.com.
Giants defensive tackle Fred Robbins has two broken thumbs. In a post-Soprano world, something tells me that this unfortunate injury has nothing to do with football. It must suck for him to walk down the street with his thumbs like that, and cars constantly pulling over to give him a ride. At least he gets to answer all yes or no questions with the ominous silence of an executioner and a simple yet dramatic turning of his wrist. Fred Robbins says: thumbs down...
Today, much to my surprise, I walked into the bathroom to find a roll of toilet paper standing atop the bathroom scale, and I thought to myself, "Damn, even toilet paper is trying to watch its weight!" I guess I would be self-conscious too if that many people shat on me everyday.
While pondering toilet paper's body image problems, I was abruptly interrupted when it yelled, "Don't you know how to knock?? How would you like it if I walked in on you naked???"
I replied, "C'mon it's not like you've never seen my bare ass before...Don't be so coarse TP. You're weight's not a problem. Everyone loves your rolls."
i'm looking at you, white liberal women on the streets of philadelphia...
and also to the sketchy guy on the subway who felt the urge to shake my hand 'cuz I was wearing Obama pins and was peeved that I didn't have a conversation with him afterwards...I'm not here to absolve your guilt. You can get that from your priest...
Barack Obama has a new website that asks you to: 'Share your vision for what America can be, where President-Elect Obama should lead this country. Where should we start together?' So I submitted a letter to the new pres. Here it is:
Dear President-Elect Barack Hussein Obama,
First off, congrats on the whole historic election thing and leading the fight against the stereotype that all black people are good dancers. It’s quite a milestone. Kudos to you and yours.
I also wanted to follow up with you on this whole change.gov website. I know you’re pretty new to the executive branch but since when did the federal government have a Department of Change? Who will you appoint Secretary of Change? Dick Change-y? Is the movie Changeling about your change babies across the world? These are very serious questions that must be answered.
But more importantly, I wanted to take the time to tell you what I need from you. You got my absentee vote, so naturally, you have to do as I say now. [That sounded kinda weird. I’m not trying to imply you’re my slave-president or anything…AWKWARD…I heart black people.]
As I was driving the streets of Philadelphia on your election day, rapper Jim Jones was on the radio recommending that in the spirit of hope and positivity, that post-your election/triumphanance, we (as in black people and the Filipino guy listening to the radio) stop using the N-word and instead replace it with Obama. That way, you’d go up to your homeboy and be like “wassup my Obama!” Jim Jones suggested a week; I am suggesting this forever…or at least until the emergence of some scandal involving donkeys, cocaine, and the big guy from the Goonies tarnishes your entire career. Given that type of nadir [holla! You’re not the only one with SAT vocab], ‘Obama’ might be on par with the n-word. But anyway…Make it happen el presidente! [That’s Spanish for the presidente.] Do it for all yo Obamas out there.
I also need your help on another crucial matter. Lately, I’ve been feeling very inadequate. Emails from friends now prominently feature in their signatures a smorgasbord of acronyms: MD, Esq, JD, PHD, MBA, MSW, MPP, MPH, ESP, PS3, HIV, ABC, BBD, mmhmmm. I now feel like the lazy, directionless, under-achiever that momma always warned me not to become.
Please help me President B-HO, help me one-up these elitist pricks I call friends. Knight me. That’s right, knight me. I realize that we’re not in England and you’re no Queen. But we live in a world of hope now where anything’s possible, and you’re practically the jesus of hope. If anybody could knight me, you could. I would be the first knight of the blog-table, Sir Boogie Brown I.
Class reunions would go so much better if I were knighted. “oh you’re working in the ER now? That’s great. I’m a knight. I vanquish dragons and protect the crown. Call me Sir.” As someone who spent most of his life trying to fit in and then saying “fuck it, I’m gonna outdo them all,” I’m sure you can understand my plight. Knight me, B-HO, knight me.
Best wishes, Hope you’re well, Sincerely yours,
Boogie Brown
P.S. Can’t you just make George W. your new puppy?
Boogie B: a new personna for all my creative and soul-enriching needs. boogie brown embodies the funk of boogie, the power of brown, and the possibilities of me.
The B: the usual poop testicle jokes.
When I put down a book, I really put it down and call it an obese drunk destined to die alone in a cage. How you like them apples, book.
