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chewyxrage
New member
ChefWide said:
is that true?
Weighted Vest Fag.
- Thread starter ChefWide
- Start date
is that true?
ChewYxRage said:is that true?
Drink some and find out. If I said yes, and you acted on my comment and the person you tried this on died... so, NO. It DOES not work, and you should not try it to see if it works. Giving someone violent, chemicly induced, gastro-intestinal distress is no laughing matter.
That having been said: Croton Oil. THAT is what you're looking for....
Tom Treutlein
New member
Good lord it reminds me of something out of Office Space. I can just see Lumberg doing that.
God, get us a picture of him.
I feel for you
God, get us a picture of him.
I feel for you
Tom Treutlein
New member
I'm giving you so much sympathy karma right now.
Oh, great and humongous Lord, spare me from myself....
Vesty Van Sucksomecock is headed to Sweden this afternoon for a presentation... and needed a display kit and projection unit put together that he will have to carry on board... it is sitting... unguarded... on the floor in front of my desk...
As my gaze is transfixed on the latch that closes the box, a howling rises from the depths of my seething, fetid, visceral revulsion of all things Vestern. My hands shaking I pray that someone will break the spell by coming between me and the case: the poisoned tree of my salvation. In a world without respite from the invasion of the last shreds of human privacy, my office is silent, not a mote stirs, no doors creak, no phone rings, not even the familiar sing song of the obese accountants double-knit slacks being rubbed between her conical thighs, cankles juddering on impact of her cloven hooves...
Silence. Deafening, white hot silence. As a peripheral awareness of the peculiar contents of my book shelf becomes agonizingly clear, a sound heard only by me slaps me like the crack of a rifle shot in the suddenly crisp, ozone laden air. Could it be, could the gentle swirls and fluid guilt of the artisans calligraphic embellishments hold such sweet, gentle solace to my pain of these past weeks? It takes an eternity for me to reach for the worn, warm leather husk that holds such savage portent when.. oh holey mother of all that is pure and right, how could I have brought my tool kit to work? How is it that in my short life, or a hundred thousand lifetimes could the shattered pieces of serene light assemble themselves for this fleeting, agonizing, opportunity....
Tears of molten steel stream my face as I hold aloft the two pieces that scream the deafening sirens song of my own accursed Avalon... I long to fill my soul with flesh before the overwhelming conflagration of my designs undo the very fabric of my existence...
A Quoran and a box cutter fit perfectly in the bottom of the case for the projector....
Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.
.
Vesty Van Sucksomecock is headed to Sweden this afternoon for a presentation... and needed a display kit and projection unit put together that he will have to carry on board... it is sitting... unguarded... on the floor in front of my desk...
As my gaze is transfixed on the latch that closes the box, a howling rises from the depths of my seething, fetid, visceral revulsion of all things Vestern. My hands shaking I pray that someone will break the spell by coming between me and the case: the poisoned tree of my salvation. In a world without respite from the invasion of the last shreds of human privacy, my office is silent, not a mote stirs, no doors creak, no phone rings, not even the familiar sing song of the obese accountants double-knit slacks being rubbed between her conical thighs, cankles juddering on impact of her cloven hooves...
Silence. Deafening, white hot silence. As a peripheral awareness of the peculiar contents of my book shelf becomes agonizingly clear, a sound heard only by me slaps me like the crack of a rifle shot in the suddenly crisp, ozone laden air. Could it be, could the gentle swirls and fluid guilt of the artisans calligraphic embellishments hold such sweet, gentle solace to my pain of these past weeks? It takes an eternity for me to reach for the worn, warm leather husk that holds such savage portent when.. oh holey mother of all that is pure and right, how could I have brought my tool kit to work? How is it that in my short life, or a hundred thousand lifetimes could the shattered pieces of serene light assemble themselves for this fleeting, agonizing, opportunity....
Tears of molten steel stream my face as I hold aloft the two pieces that scream the deafening sirens song of my own accursed Avalon... I long to fill my soul with flesh before the overwhelming conflagration of my designs undo the very fabric of my existence...
A Quoran and a box cutter fit perfectly in the bottom of the case for the projector....
Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.
.
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