The Saint and TIP: Part Whatever
The Saint wrote:
Flonk, have I ever told you something's upsetting the buffalo by the pale moon light. When firsts get you seconds and the last piece of pie is tempting (but in the company of others you never know how long it's been sitting out). You never know how it would have tasted--melted, texturized, fishy'd--in your mouth if you swagger on over and pierced it like a costco sample. On your way back thinking, "no one would have noticed if I snagged two." Coming up with a fake relative or girlfriend isn't that hard. Does Tammy sound made up? Tammy's probably good for a square of cheese but If I wanted more sausage I would have to come up with something interesting but forgettable so I could go back on the same day. Maybe I wouldn't even have to come up with a real name. Maybe I could sneeze it like they do in the movies. Yeah, ta*sneeze*ie. That could get me roasted garlic with spinach and artichoke apple.
TIP relpies:
You can tell by squinting in just the right manner at the porthole to my soles (them dern gimlet...giblet...doodleys...in my Piggie Floppers) that we are in almost complete agreement...except when it comes to stylized and monogrammed towels (or moist towelettes...who the fuck needs THAT action when trying to get BBQ sauce off your knuckled digs, dig?) and see-through shower curtains. Not interested. It was like that time at the former Burger Chef turned Club Buff, remember? The Stairmaster meets the girth of Clarence?
Sure you do.
I've peeped your shoes, Winky.
To which the Saint responds:
Poor Clarence. Hard to use any exercise equipment when your fat molds to said equipment.
That reminds me of the time when I took a lover to the island I inherited from Jarre after the 10th time he died trying to prove the existence of bizarro smurfs. Ain't no laser harp going to help you now, I always said. I was proven wrong but adapting his main laser harp Bessie with a flux capicator to endless Smeared Smurfs over time periods was rather harsh. Whether they took his 26th son Klitpah Jarre or not (he was one of those green aliens Kirk always plooked so they were never sure if Klitpah was a true Jarre or not but it didn't matter the bond was true and--don't kid yourself--Jarre invented the Star Trek universe after a time binge in his teens, crazy years those were...Tribbles and all). As I was saying the lover I took after a long night of drinking the patented Bill the Lump shots, no his name really looked like that on account of researching the shots. The worst thing is to have no walls between the bed and the bath...especially see-through shower curtains. Well I guess the worst thing would be that I was on a island with her and no razor for miles and miles and miles. It was then that I took up pleasuring myself til the tide came in.
Which ended with TIP saying:
Ah, yes...wading out in a tidal cascade of Mother Earth's own Spooge. A delight hardwired into our very beings (as evidenced by the popularity of Sunny Oceanic Vacation Spots...like the Canary Islands and Timbukspoo). A Constitution Fortifying Exercise...like trying to reset your synapses by putting your tongue to the business end of a 9 Volt Battery or the syphilitic palms of a reformed studio drummer...only this time there isn't the Waders Requirement NOR the One Poke, One Pucker exclusionary clause (first introduced into practice by one G'wayne-doline Dalahmatree after the Fortnight Mastication Massacre of '68) which tends to put people right out of the Get in the Pool sentiment stirred up by our Homo Sapien breeding.
T
(flah?)
The Saint wrote:
Flonk, have I ever told you something's upsetting the buffalo by the pale moon light. When firsts get you seconds and the last piece of pie is tempting (but in the company of others you never know how long it's been sitting out). You never know how it would have tasted--melted, texturized, fishy'd--in your mouth if you swagger on over and pierced it like a costco sample. On your way back thinking, "no one would have noticed if I snagged two." Coming up with a fake relative or girlfriend isn't that hard. Does Tammy sound made up? Tammy's probably good for a square of cheese but If I wanted more sausage I would have to come up with something interesting but forgettable so I could go back on the same day. Maybe I wouldn't even have to come up with a real name. Maybe I could sneeze it like they do in the movies. Yeah, ta*sneeze*ie. That could get me roasted garlic with spinach and artichoke apple.
TIP relpies:
You can tell by squinting in just the right manner at the porthole to my soles (them dern gimlet...giblet...doodleys...in my Piggie Floppers) that we are in almost complete agreement...except when it comes to stylized and monogrammed towels (or moist towelettes...who the fuck needs THAT action when trying to get BBQ sauce off your knuckled digs, dig?) and see-through shower curtains. Not interested. It was like that time at the former Burger Chef turned Club Buff, remember? The Stairmaster meets the girth of Clarence?
Sure you do.
I've peeped your shoes, Winky.
To which the Saint responds:
Poor Clarence. Hard to use any exercise equipment when your fat molds to said equipment.
That reminds me of the time when I took a lover to the island I inherited from Jarre after the 10th time he died trying to prove the existence of bizarro smurfs. Ain't no laser harp going to help you now, I always said. I was proven wrong but adapting his main laser harp Bessie with a flux capicator to endless Smeared Smurfs over time periods was rather harsh. Whether they took his 26th son Klitpah Jarre or not (he was one of those green aliens Kirk always plooked so they were never sure if Klitpah was a true Jarre or not but it didn't matter the bond was true and--don't kid yourself--Jarre invented the Star Trek universe after a time binge in his teens, crazy years those were...Tribbles and all). As I was saying the lover I took after a long night of drinking the patented Bill the Lump shots, no his name really looked like that on account of researching the shots. The worst thing is to have no walls between the bed and the bath...especially see-through shower curtains. Well I guess the worst thing would be that I was on a island with her and no razor for miles and miles and miles. It was then that I took up pleasuring myself til the tide came in.
Which ended with TIP saying:
Ah, yes...wading out in a tidal cascade of Mother Earth's own Spooge. A delight hardwired into our very beings (as evidenced by the popularity of Sunny Oceanic Vacation Spots...like the Canary Islands and Timbukspoo). A Constitution Fortifying Exercise...like trying to reset your synapses by putting your tongue to the business end of a 9 Volt Battery or the syphilitic palms of a reformed studio drummer...only this time there isn't the Waders Requirement NOR the One Poke, One Pucker exclusionary clause (first introduced into practice by one G'wayne-doline Dalahmatree after the Fortnight Mastication Massacre of '68) which tends to put people right out of the Get in the Pool sentiment stirred up by our Homo Sapien breeding.
T
(flah?)
posted by Tony at 4:41 PM
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