Messenger Puppet

Vincent Black Shadow? If only...

My friends call me Harley Davidson Iron 883.  You can just call me “Daddy,” but I’m not your father’s 2 wheeled deathmobile

A post about mutants triggers the Newsmax Is Sarah Palin a savant? push poll

Post: mutant. Banner: monster. Banner ad: Jesus some jokes DO write themselves

in unrelated stories, the secretary who does NOT work for me (she works for Manny) is showing about 90% more cleavage than usual and there is a an appointment downstairs who is “dumb, dizty,  and hot! A man’s dream come true!” according to Jack.  Sadly, she’s here to see Moe.  While Moe has dabbled, his 14 years with the same man pretty much means its wasted.

Then fucking Manny tells me that on the project that is mine to handle, I have to submit my changes and additions to him, so that the things I want to do fit with his plan on how he wants to handle this thing that he wants me to handle.

Also, no, I can’t use his secretary.

mmm... ampules

Wasn’t this the whole point of the movie?

(Apart from Jacqueline Bisset without a bra.  I’ll take two of those, please)

it doesn't mean "toaster"

or “a full reproduction of the original Roland synthesizer, with fully functional sequencer.”  Dammit.

Malignant ass tumor is no extra charge

Best Thuinderbird Ever

If this car has coil springs, I would have its babies, or it would have mine.

…and it shows.  Your rolling creamsicle ads come in lots of different flavors

Lime

Possibly the flavor is Sour Apple

Licorice

Black and topless like hookers named Apple

Orange

The color of 8 barrel air cleaners

Red? Rust?

Him: Reddened, like it’s engorged.
Her: Stop looking at my boobs or I will take this microphone and Casino Royale your personal BJ quest into oblivion.

Golden

Like the flavor of popcorn. Or showers, one supposes, since it seems to invite being pissed on.

The elusive WTF mark V, which tastes of mystery and Wild Turkey

The elusive WTF Mark V, which tastes of mystery and Wild Turkey

Vanilla

The high dollar chicas are not impressed, even when it’s Italian

Lemon yellow?

Ahh, overcompensation. Lemon, like “pucker up”? Not subtle. Banana, to go with a long hood and side exhausts? You think it says long and hard. She’ll think yellow banans are already starting to go soft and are hours away from rotting. Also, gasses – pheww – watch out.

When all else fails...

…just drop the bonnet on an Aston, regardless of color. While it does say, “I’m fucking desperate,” it also says “old money” and jacuzzi suite at the Wynn. Whadda you got to lose.

The only sure fire solution: B/W like Nick at Nite

Even if you’re a door knob, driving old Vegas says “yeah baby” in that ever so right sort of way.

I heard a radio ad for the Dream Palace last night.  What they meant to be selling:  Pussy

These One on One exclusive Nude shows separate the Dream Palace from all other clubs. We are the only club in Arizona that offers a completely private nude performance. Get one of our mind-blowing entertainers nude in our remodeled luxurious private show suites for a one of a kind adult experience that will have you coming back for more.

http://dreampalace.com/

What they actually sold: sausage

…We are the only club in Arizona that offers a completely private nude performance, mano y mano. Get one of our mind-blowing entertainers nude in our remodeled luxurious private show suites for a one of a kind adult experience that will have you coming back for more. [Approximate text of radio ad.]

Mano y mano?  Really?  Speaking just for myself, I don’t want another guy in there, and I don’t need any man on man action either. (NTTAWWI.)

Yesterday, I found myself a single dude preparing to shag the star of a reality show (a former adversary), when it occurred to me, almost immediately after she dropped top, and  I dropped trou, that I should slide those pants ever so nonchalantly back on and GTFOOT.

• Boyfriend there?  Problem.
• Fact that the whole premise of her show is setting up suspected cheaters and filming everything for later use?  Problem.
• Fact that she and I, and BF and I have a history that makes publicity of my naked ass or a bat upside the head more likely than a private happy finish?  Big problem.

In the dream, my mad fast talking seemed to get me out of the immediate awkwardness, then blessed consciousness made it all moot.

On last nights episode:

In between the real life alarm clock going off,  and an imagined deposition over the existence of this website, I stumbled across a dark haired, attractive woman having a private call in her dark four door sedan on a side street.  She had on a white shirt and capris or something. It was obvious there was nothing else, and she was either sunburned or flushed with color from her phone chat.  She was looking for closure, and my stumbling upon this tableau interfered with that effort.  Or maybe it was the construction workers milling around, pretending that singing the 5 dollar foot long song was all that occupied their attentions.  So, she moved her car.  The scrutiny continued, as did the telephone conversation. Then, wakeys before I could help her.

Don't get none on ya

Across the street from Bandaids club.  “In the gutter” takes on a different meaning than what we ascribe to the homeless dudes living in the alley.

The Aston Martin V8 – for rich guys who need blow jobs

James Bond should have driven this, not that effete Lotus

Car and Driver review (sorry – not the P. J. O’Rourke version)

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