An environmentally hippie-dippie co-worker told me that whenever she walks along a beach, she picks up transparent plastic garbage under the auspices of saving the fucking dolphins because it does something bad to them that I would love to imagine. With that in mind, I'm taking the LIRR to Long Beach with a back pack full of Glad Brand Sandwich Bags, those McDonald's two-beverage holder bags and 3,000 bendy straws. The reasoning? Straws in particular are supposed to (according to the interwebs, which never lies) get lodged in the dolphin blowhole thus suffocating them. You ever see that happen with gills? Hells no, bitch. Because fish got it made. They're supposed to be underwater because, THEY CAN BREATH UNDERWATER. Idiotic dolphins due to their evolutionary backtracking have to surface to breath our precious O2 and in the process often get things stuck in their air slot. Just think of this for your next SAT:
Dolphin : Bendy Straw :: Richard Gere : ?
Posts
7 comments:
Mother Fucking Cunt!!!!.....You're a piece of shit!!!
Dear Hepatitis C,
Thank you for your comment. Your brilliant insight to the plight of cetaceans is duly noted and furthermore, your inspired rhetoric has moved me to tears. I have sworn off the influence of Satan and shall embrace, wholeheartedly, the message of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, the one and only true Son of GOD. Thank you for showing me the path towards righteousness. I love you and I think we should be together.
Unless of course you're a dolphin in which case I will rape the fucking shit out of your blowhole until blood spurts from your gills. I mean, I don't think you understand how much of a drilling you will get. I will jackhammer the hell out of that shit so hard that a Ron Jeremy greatest hits reel will look like Spongebob Squarepants. I will chafe the inside of your cocksucking lungs with my rod so badly, you'll be breathing in semen for the next three decades.
That is of course if you are a dolphin. Since they can't type that hot, I'm assuming you're not, in which case, will you marry me?
Dolphin Hater.
Whoa....Take it easy sunshine! I was just paying you a respectful compliment. I'm impressed by your play on my username also, I can tell you must be an extremely talented and creative person. Well done, your parents must be very proud! I'm not sure if you are ready for the commitment that is marriage as you have proven that you are partial to beastialty and that is just something i could not look past when choosing my partner but Thanks for the offer though....I'm sure you'll find somebody really nice! Take care!
Dearest Heptathalon,
I miss your gentle caress. The dulcet tones of your voice. The way you do that thing with the thing. You know what I'm talking about. Please reconsider my offer of undying love, affection and above all, ivory. Tons of ill begotten narwhal ivory. This my love, is my dowry to your family. Call me old fashioned, call me a traditionalist, but I feel that a spouse must be in essence purchased from parents, because nothing says "I love you" more than defacto ownership through payment. I would love to take you to the Poconos or perhaps a quaint Western Massachusetts bed and breakfast where we can slash the tires of Priuses and put seal oil in the gas tanks of Subaru Legacy Outback station wagons. Please join me on this adventure that is life.
Yours, one and truly,
Dolphin Hater...
PS - I'm not wearing any pants.
Wow...way to scrape the barrel buddy!
Dear Heptahelical Receptor:
I respectfully withdraw my proposal of marriage as you are clearly a 19th century London street urchin due to your usage of the phrase "scrape the barrel." While a fan of delightful Dickensian ragamuffins, I have no desire to take on the baggage that goes along with correcting the diction of "the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain." That's just too much effort for a 5'9" blonde model to undertake at this juncture in life. I will always remember you for the times we had. The skiing in Aspen. The trips to the Orient. The wholesale slaughter of right whales in the North Atlantic, that one halcyon afternoon. What bliss. What joy. Sooooo much blood though. I'll never get those jeans clean. But then again, the stain upon my trousers is akin to the stain you've left, on my heart. You are Whitney Houston to my Kevin Costner. I am Bobby Brown to your Whitney Houston. We go together like a 100 page shooting script and Rock of Love: Charm School.
Miss you... so much.
Dolphy.
Not Eric Dolphy. Harmolodics was to contrived. I prefer mid period Mingus. But you knew that already...
Post a Comment