Sudden Youth Christian Bake Sale Forces Cancellation of Saturday's Downpour (Shiite Motha' F'er)
Jump upon BM's mystical flying doormat for another time consuming blogging adventure. Speaking of doormats, if Big Matt ever became a Wal-Mart greeter, he'd become WM, Welcome Matt. Enough of the funny business. Got your ticket? Good. Now hop on fella', extinguish your cigar, and mind your practicality. And lickitty-splitting headache, we're off...whish....
Our first stop is on Walnut street, the hub of Shadyside pretentiousness. To your left you'll see Tiffany, a 23 year old graduate of National Inquiror Whore University, lugging a small chihuahua and stinking like Abercrombian Fish. Look out Tiffany! Whew, you almost bumped into Todd, a 6th year Bachlelor of Complete Pudds student. Decked out in a white striped collared shirt, Todd has ambitions that a bimbo like Tiffany will be so impressed with his new white striped collared shirt that she will stumble drunkenly unto his lilly pad where she'll stroke his ego, not to mention his frightfully tiny dingy. Goodness, Todd, you just knocked over Emmanuel's coffee. By Cleft's palate! it spilled all over the lap top computer he lugged all the way from home so he could plop it on a public table and yell to the world "Look at me, ye who pass by, for I am operating a computer in public outside a coffee house, therefore I am an intellectual who more than likley writes faggy poetry." Put down the fake Weezer glasses Emmanuel and join BM on his mystical doormat. Whish...
Look Emmanuel, our next stop is at the 415 sqaure foot apartment of BM himself, conveniently located only two blocks from Walnut St. Hmm, all I see is a living room/kitchen and a bedroom. You're probably asking yourself, where does BM have his BMs? No stupid, not out the window or in a Pringles can, but in the closet-sized bathroom that was occupied when BM was given his apartment tour by Mozart Management. Wow, you mean the door is only a foot from the job-john when it's closed? Yes my friends, yes. Too bad our doormat wasn't a time machine, and we could fly back to yesterday when BM met his new third floor housemate, a nice law student named Anthony. BM was helping Anthony move a dresser up the stairs to this new apartment when the first thing BM saw upon opening the front door was Anthony's absolutely enormous bathroom. When I say enormous I mean all 7 of the McDonald's mascots could throw a kegs-and-eggs party in there enormous. When BM saw this, his eyes lit up as though he were a boxcar hobo who's stumbled upon the ivory tower, but unable to pee in it. Whish...
Spudder, spudder...crapple, we're out of fuel. Hang on Emmanuel, we're gonna' have to make a crash landing. Ahhh...kerplunk. Where are we? And who is this odd, shadowy figure approaching? She looks so familar, as if I just read about her in another blog. Oh no! it's the crazy old smoker lady with the trachea from Terese's latest blog (directly below mine.) Start, you peice of shit doormat, start...yes, thank you baby, thank you. Whish...
Well, we're back from where ever it was we started. I hope you learned a lesson from our little ride. Never bother reading BM's rambling blogs, and you don't necessarily have to be a lumberjack to wear flannel.
Our first stop is on Walnut street, the hub of Shadyside pretentiousness. To your left you'll see Tiffany, a 23 year old graduate of National Inquiror Whore University, lugging a small chihuahua and stinking like Abercrombian Fish. Look out Tiffany! Whew, you almost bumped into Todd, a 6th year Bachlelor of Complete Pudds student. Decked out in a white striped collared shirt, Todd has ambitions that a bimbo like Tiffany will be so impressed with his new white striped collared shirt that she will stumble drunkenly unto his lilly pad where she'll stroke his ego, not to mention his frightfully tiny dingy. Goodness, Todd, you just knocked over Emmanuel's coffee. By Cleft's palate! it spilled all over the lap top computer he lugged all the way from home so he could plop it on a public table and yell to the world "Look at me, ye who pass by, for I am operating a computer in public outside a coffee house, therefore I am an intellectual who more than likley writes faggy poetry." Put down the fake Weezer glasses Emmanuel and join BM on his mystical doormat. Whish...
Look Emmanuel, our next stop is at the 415 sqaure foot apartment of BM himself, conveniently located only two blocks from Walnut St. Hmm, all I see is a living room/kitchen and a bedroom. You're probably asking yourself, where does BM have his BMs? No stupid, not out the window or in a Pringles can, but in the closet-sized bathroom that was occupied when BM was given his apartment tour by Mozart Management. Wow, you mean the door is only a foot from the job-john when it's closed? Yes my friends, yes. Too bad our doormat wasn't a time machine, and we could fly back to yesterday when BM met his new third floor housemate, a nice law student named Anthony. BM was helping Anthony move a dresser up the stairs to this new apartment when the first thing BM saw upon opening the front door was Anthony's absolutely enormous bathroom. When I say enormous I mean all 7 of the McDonald's mascots could throw a kegs-and-eggs party in there enormous. When BM saw this, his eyes lit up as though he were a boxcar hobo who's stumbled upon the ivory tower, but unable to pee in it. Whish...
Spudder, spudder...crapple, we're out of fuel. Hang on Emmanuel, we're gonna' have to make a crash landing. Ahhh...kerplunk. Where are we? And who is this odd, shadowy figure approaching? She looks so familar, as if I just read about her in another blog. Oh no! it's the crazy old smoker lady with the trachea from Terese's latest blog (directly below mine.) Start, you peice of shit doormat, start...yes, thank you baby, thank you. Whish...
Well, we're back from where ever it was we started. I hope you learned a lesson from our little ride. Never bother reading BM's rambling blogs, and you don't necessarily have to be a lumberjack to wear flannel.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home