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
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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.
J: we did end up going to the place in the Wynn but lots of older folks/cougars up in their club
