"Let me put it straight out. I can only shit at home. That's right. Not at the boyfriend's house, not at work, not on vacation. Just can't do it - unless it's related to food poisoning or taking 4 or 5 Ex-laxes. But on a normal day, every time I try, I get all nervous and veto the idea and wait the four more hours until I can go home. It's a dreadful way to live, but I've gotten used to it over the years. BUT, then I realize, only tonight, how foolish that psychosis is. I'm sitting here in my clean, dry pajamas with full-seat, cotton, white, OLD LADY underwear wondering if E-coli has just decided to make my cunt its home. Yeah. You heard me, so lemme tell you my story.
Living down here on the Gulf coast, I've noticed that palm trees tend to bend toward the water. At first I thought this was due to increased sunlight reflecting off the water, but it turns out it has to do with coastal erosion. That is to say the seaward side of coastal palms tends to erode away, and the trees gradually lean out. Yet naturally they always try to grow straight up, so the net effect is a bowing of the trunk if the erosion is gradual, but it can be 90-degrees if the failure is rapid and the tree does not die.
THIS WAS THE WHITE HOUSE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON: Who are the shooters? WE DON'T KNOW! How many shooters were there? WE DON'T KNOW! What were their motives? WE DON'T KNOW! What kinds of weapons did they use? WE DON'T KNOW! Where did they get their weapons? WE DON'T KNOW! Were they purchased illegally? WE DON'T KNOW! Did those weapons comply with California's overly restrictive gun laws? WE DON'T KNOW! How many people were killed or injured? WE DON'T KNOW! Where are the shooters right now? WE DON'T KNOW! Are all of the shooters in custody? WE DON'T KNOW! What do we need to prevent this? MORE MUTHAFUCKIN' GUN CONTROL!
Gantry cranes are a type of crane built atop a structure used to straddle an object or workspace. They are also called portal cranes, the "portal" being the empty space straddled by the gantry. The terms gantry crane and overhead crane (or bridge crane) are often used interchangeably, as both types of crane straddle their workload. The usual distinction drawn between the two is that with gantry cranes, the entire structure is usually wheeled, often on rails. Since I find this gantry crane to be of rather unique design, I would like to see what it looks like on Google maps. Show me!
Fifteen-year-old sailor Martin Matthews of Shelbyville, W. Va., shouldn't have been on the USS Arizona on Dec. 7, 1941. Assigned to nearby Ford Island Naval Station, Matthews was on board the Arizona to visit an old buddy, Seaman 1st Class William Stafford, en route to some sightseeing on shore. First, however, Stafford gave his friend a tour of the 25-year-old battleship. The Arizona was one of the last of the great "ultimate weapons of the sea," displacing about 32,500 tons and measuring 608 feet. The battleship carried a main armament of twelve 14-inch guns. Thirteen-inch steel slabs shielded her hull, and twenty inches of armor encased her four turrets. "I wish I could get duty aboard a battleship!" Matthews told Stafford.
Basic Instinct is a 1992 erotic thriller film directed by Paul Verhoeven and written by Joe Eszterhas, and starring Michael Douglas and Sharon Stone. The film follows a police detective, Nick Curran (Douglas), who is investigating the brutal murder of a wealthy rock star. During the investigation Curran becomes involved in a torrid and intense relationship with the prime suspect, Catherine Tramell (Stone), an enigmatic writer. Even before its release, Basic Instinct generated heated controversy due to its overt sexuality and graphic depiction of violence. Following the theatrical version, the film was first released onto VHS in an unrated version in 1992, running at 129 minutes. This was followed by a DVD release in 1997, in a "barebones" format that contained the R-rated version.
"I worked in the porn store just shy of a year. I had dealt with perverts, freaks, thieves and the scummiest pieces of shit that had ever walked the earth, but my worst day had nothing to do with those people. So there I was stuck slinging porn on another hot and humid Saturday afternoon in the dead of summer. It wasn't bad enough that I had stayed up most of the night drinking Guinness and my head was pounding, my stomach was queasy and my intestines ached, but the Jizzmopper (I swear to God his name is Jack) hadn't shown up to clean the arcade. I was a little more than grumpy because I barely had any sleep and still managed to drag my ass into the porn store at 9am. Where the fuck was he? I had learned on several other occasions earlier in the summer, that if Jack does not show up, all the cum and urine that has been expelled onto the floor of the arcade booths, and then tracked out, will start to stink up the whole (un-airconditioned) building, and when you walk back there your shoes will get stuck. (Just like in a movie theater when someone behind you spills their soda and it has 2 hours to get sticky under your feet.) He'd better get here soon I thought, because one: I don't wanna have to get cum on my shoes again -I'm tired of hosing off and walking through the grass when I get home- and two: I needed to puke and take a shit and someone had to watch the store because there were customers scattered about the whole place.
GODAMMIT. Someone sent in an email with information on finding this subway platform, but I can't find the fucking thing and fear I may have deleted it by accident. I hate it when I do that, it absolutely makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. So whoever you are, please resend your email!
Every celebrity, every athlete, every person who makes their bread and butter from the fame and admiration they enjoy from their fans, should be as gracious as The Fucking Rock. The People's Champion, indeed.
While I will admit I'll always have a soft spot for the hot young Britney, the older I get the more I realize this is the absolute fucking truth.
Bob, Part I -- "After lurking about in the wings the required 2 months I have felt the need to tell you about my anal fissure Bob. It all started about two years ago in Thailand. I had just fired a round of green chile liquishit down the hole that the Asians call "toilet" when I noticed an odd sensation just inside the rim of my sphincter accompanied by a blasting spray of rich red blood. After living in Asia for six months I thought that I had experienced nearly every digestive tract malady known to man. Worms, burning and colonic liquidity on a huge scale. Butt (hehe) this was something completely different. It was a singularly unique feeling that I know now to have been the actual tearing of my rectum. It was Bob making himself know to me. At first Bob wasn't so bad. Occasional itch and discomfort. Nothing that I couldn't handle. A mint flavored suppository now and again seemed to do the trick. But then about a year ago my cruel master Bob began requiring more and more from me.
Bob, Part III
I stumbled across a small Volkwagen Club carshow this past weekend, with some pretty neat stuff there.
Okay kids, this is last and greatest push for donations for this year's Let's Bring Em Home ticket drive. For those of you unfamiliar, this is our annual tradition of collecting donations to buy plane tickets for our nation's junior military members to fly home for Christmas. We've been doing it since 2001 and sao far this year is shaping up pretty well: we've completed 128 tickets so far, have another 7 in our queue and as of this writing need $4,478.67 more to square up everything for the year. We continue to book tickets right up until Christmas so if you haven't had the opportunity to help out with a GREAT cause this year, let this be your chance. Toss a few bucks in to help send a Soldier, Airman, Marine or Sailor home for Christmas. As always, your donations are 100% tax deductible and I thank you for your support!
I absolutely hate it when you get a group of people together in a nice social setting, and there's always that one person who won't stop texting on their phone. That really pisses me off to no end.
HOLY SHIT, I ALMOST FORGOT THIS YEAR! So thanks to Rick for reminding me to once again issue the DON'T SHOOT YOUR EYE OUT challenge! Remember, the goal is to get a final score as close to 9,999,999 points without rolling over.
If you're like me, you just can't get into the Christmas spirit until you see Hans Gruber fall from Nakatomi Plaza. Well, let's get this party started.
Well here we are once again. A scant six weeks after the starter's pistol cracked and this is how things at Let's Bring Em Home turned out this year. As of this morning there are 138 tickets completed; 27 of which were international tickets -- average cost $1,352.76 -- headed to/from destinations in Philippines, China, Germany, Korea, and Japan. The three most expensive tickets were: Colorado to Philippines ($2083.41), Alaska to the US Virgin Islands ($2,130.29), and Florida to China ($2,285.59). The remaining 111 domestic flights -- average cost $692.77 -- went to various points in 33 of the 50 states.