So it was Friday night and, being the sophisticated diners that we are, Mrs Bison and I took Bison Daughter to Red Robin. For those not in the know, this is a “family” burger restaurant chain, complete with laminated menus, helium-filled balloons and bored staff who periodically gather and sing some generic birthday song. It is probably best known for the lardiness of its clientele – as we sat in the foyer, awaiting our table for three, surrounded by fellow diners it was hard not to notice how fucking fat they were.
At one point a massively overweight older couple came in, and I instantly winced as they walked over, because I could see that they were about to try and squeeze their enormous rumps onto the same bench seat that we were occupying. As the man sat down, his wife declared “I’m just going to quickly run to the restroom”.
Every fiber of my being wanted to respond “Oh come on, you’re clearly wrong on both counts” but I settled for making this comments to my slim wife. Meanwhile a teenage girl, so fat that her black leggings had become translucent, waddled in. There’s no hope for us in this country so long as obesity is treated as a disease rather than a lifestyle choice…
And while we’re on the subject of Indiana, here’s another thing: why are there so many “adult video” emporia lining the highway there? Maybe it’s my imagination but all I could see along the side of the road was McDonalds and shops selling wanking material, all with big signs. I know this is small-town Indiana, but I wondered “surely there has to be a little more to life than masturbation, followed by a burger”. Then I realized that the only other buildings in evidence were churches, and suddenly I understood. Compared to hanging out in church, rubbing yourself off and eating a Big Mac must seem like winning the lottery. Cheaper too…
I happened to be in Indiana today, in a small town. It was chock-full of fat bastards. Not just chubby people, but those really fat ones, with the gut that hangs down over their genitals. Maybe it’s unfair to make the observation about Indiana – maybe you see the same thing in any small Midwestern town.
Nevertheless, what really struck me was that some of the wobbliest ones had a really small head. Sort of like it had shrunk, as all their energy went into growing a gut. Really tiny head on top of a really big, oval body. Nice look…
Yes I know Skype is good value, since it’s free, but for weeks now I’ve had this stupid pop-up telling me I have “Skype Credit” and suggesting I call someone. Well today I found myself needing to call someone. Great! I could use my “Skype Credit”.
So I clicked on the green box and entered the number. Up comes a message saying (and I quote) “Sorry, calling — — —- failed. You need Skype credit to call this phone number.”
Really? You fucking morons. Even though your sodding annoying message has been hanging in front of me every time I went online. After it came back every time I deleted it. Now you tell me I DON’T have any of your fucking credit after all? Click here to “Buy Skype credit now”.
Yeah, well you can fuck right off…
You remember the old joke about the bloke whose doctor gives him a course of suppositories but is too embarrassed to tell him how to use them, so he just says they should be taken per rectum. The patient comes back two weeks later and when the doctor asks if the drugs helped, he responds “They were useless – for all the good they did I might as well have shoved them up my arse.”
Well, I saw a Daily Mail headline today stating that bananas may be the key to stopping the spread of AIDS. My first thought was “Bananas – the new AIDS prevention device for homos. Simply just insert one in your arse prior to sexual relations and it will significantly reduce your chances of contraction.”
They work best if combined with a sugar cube, apparently. Just slip one into your bum chum’s shoe, and it will make him limp…
Any time you eat out there’s a finite possibility of ending up with a case of the shits – it’s just not reasonable to expect that everyone who works in a restaurant washes their hands after wiping their arse, or that the ingredients didn’t have green fur wiped off them when they were pulled out of the back of the refrigerator. We routinely take this chance, often putting our colons in the hands of the kind of people we’d cross the street to avoid if we actually met them, in return for the convenience of someone else making us food.
There are times, however, when the possibility of diarrhea becomes more of a probability. And yesterday, when I ordered the seafood chili it’s fair to say that I accepted the near-certainty that it would exit me with extreme prejudice this morning.
And I was not disappointed. To be fair, it looked like diarrhea before I even began eating it – brown liquid with seafoody things floating in it. My poor digestive tract didn’t stand a chance; I’m not sure it even made a dent in the chili. I could practically have counted out the shrimp one by one, had I been so inclined. It’s not as though I didn’t see it coming…
You know you’ve got too much time on your hands when you end up doing this. I have a curved scar on one hand which Mrs Bison drew a face around, so that the scar became the mouth. She then offered me the opportunity to make something creative out of a burn that she has on one of her hands (the result of terminal clumsiness and the inability safely to withdraw a pie from the oven).
This is what I came up with. Unlike my spouse I’m no artist, but it’s not a bad effort by my usual standards. I like to call it “Vindaloo – The Morning After”.
Congratulations to the coalition of vociferous race-baiters for getting Rush Limbaugh dropped from the group bidding for ownership of the St.Louis Rams football team. I’m sure it will warm the hearts of NFL owners and players that this man with his, um, opinions won’t be in a position to damage the reputation of the league.
No, we wouldn’t want an controversy behind the scenes to detract from the parade of animal torturers, drug abusers, drunk drivers, firearms criminals, wife beaters and violent offenders who don a uniform and actually get on TV every week, would we?
Just goes to show, you can be any kind of scum and the league will welcome you with open arms. The NFL Players Association will fight for your right to keep your big fat bonus and keep on playing, no matter what crime you committed. But for the crime of having conservative opinions there is apparently no forgiveness. Sure, black players would refuse to play for Rush Limbaugh, but they’ll happily suit up beside an unrepentant drunk-driving killer. Hypocrisy anyone?
The Horse Fucker
Ever had one of those days where you wonder whether your life just reached rock bottom? Well here’s a guy who can help redefine “rock bottom” and recalibrate your life for you.
The story HERE concerns a bloke who has just been arrested for the second time in South Carolina for shagging a horse. Not only is he a horse fucker, but he was caught having sex with the same horse he fucked last year. Here’s a wild idea: there are a lot of horses out there, so why not change it up a bit and try a different one? Or maybe one whose owner isn’t already sensitized to the fact that some freak weirdo wants to play backdoor jockey with her animal?
There are so many levels on which this is fucked up, but perhaps the most telling is that the woman was tipped off to the attack by the fact that her horse was “acting strange and getting infections again”. Now that’s bad. You fuck a horse and it’s the horse that gets infected. How disgusting a diseased specimen must you be to pull that off?
If they ever want to make a juvenile education movie in South Carolina to encourage teenagers to eschew a life of crime and stay on the straight and narrow, they could do worse than to use this bloke. I would imagine the prospect of waking up every day for five years with this freak as your cellmate would be enough to scare you straight, wouldn’t it?
“OK buddy, now bend over and whinny like a pony. Oh yeah!”
Eyelash Lengthening Drugs
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